The Lord and his Lady
by tlyxor1
Summary: The resurrection of a long-since abolished tradition at Hogwarts is set to stir up more trouble than it's worth. A betrothal, a dark lord and murmurs of a conspiracy, Harry Potter's life has been flipped on it's axis - again. AU of Order of the Phoenix. A rewrite.
1. Prologue: The Board of Governors

**The Lord and his Lady **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter universe. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** The resurrection of a long-since abolished tradition at Hogwarts is set to stir up more trouble than it's worth. A betrothal, a Dark Lord and murmurs of a conspiracy, Harry's life has been flipped on it's axis - again. Order of the Phoenix AU.

**Rating:** T for language, mentions of adult themes and character death.

**Author:** tlyxor - formerly realism.

**Author's Note:** Here she is - finally. I've lost count at how many rewrites it's taken and there have been a number of times in which I've given up, but an anonymous review that had me simultaneously cracking up and wincing at how brutally honest it was had me inspired. To that reviewer - and hopefully you know who you are reviewer number 427 - thanks so much.

**Prologue: The Board of Governors **

_July 1st, 1995 _

_Conference Room 3, Hogwarts School _

The Hogwarts Board of Governors was established in the 1800's. At the time, the then headmaster Albert Croker was on the far side of sane and it had been decided that the school needed an administrative body - just in case the headmaster decided to do something inordinately stupid like condone such punishments like being forced to swim in the Black Lake in the middle of winter. Funnily, the headmaster ended up being fired for such a ridiculous stunt.

That was neither here nor there though. It had been a century since then and the current headmaster - despite claims to the contrary - was perfectly sane. Or at least beyond the point where one was so insane they were considered not crazy. However, despite the headmaster's sanity, the Board of Governors remained, somehow not having been abolished following the instatement of a perfectly sane, perfectly good headmistress following the sacking of one Albert Croker in 1834.

Generally, the Board of Governors met four times a year. On special occasions - such as the Triwizard Tournament - meetings became more of a regular occurrence. This wasn't one such time though. Rather, it was their quarterly meeting to discuss the end of the last school year, possible changes that could be made for the upcoming year and for the old codgers to listen to Lucius Malfoy's customary tangents related to why mudbloods-pardon-me-muggle-borns should not be permitted to enter Hogwarts all the while pretending like they actually gave a damn about what the blonde biggot was actually saying. In all, it was nothing new.

They arrived one by one, all sixteen of them. They were soon joined by the headmaster and his deputy, both of whom looked far older than any of the board members could recall. For Dumbledore, it was justifiable. After all, the man was well into his second century of life. In contrast, Minerva McGonagall still happened to be gloriously middle aged - at least by witch standards. Their haggard appearances were understandable - were one to believe what was being said, at any rate. The Dark Lord was back. Such news would make anyone age a few decades before their time.. Apparently, the headmaster and deputy headmistress weren't exempt from such truths.

Once they'd all seated themselves at the conference room table, all eyes turned to the Chairman of the Board of Governors. caught somewhere between eighty and elderly, Lyle Erkuhart had aged rather gracefully, his once sleek black hair turned grey and tied in a braid far too elaborate to have been done by any wizard's hand. Slate grey eyes behind square rimmed spectacles shrewdly eyeballed all seventeen of the room's other occupants - including (though not restricted to) the venerable Albus Dumbledore. For the steel enough to manage such a feat without shivering, the man certainly deserved the top job. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid we have a problem on our hands."

Inquisitive glances were shared, questioning eyebrows were raised and passive legilimency probes were attempted. Eventually, the expectant silence got to be too much for the Dowager Lady Longbottom. With an annoyed scowl, she demanded. "Out with it then, Erkuhart! I don't have all day, old man."

An affronted scowl was all the woman received for her troubles and the woman rolled her eyes.

"Right," Erkuhart began, "As you are all probably aware, the Fudge administration has chosen to bury their heads in the sand. As we all know - through one source or another - Lord Voldemort has returned from the abyss." There were flinches from those afraid of the name, eye rolls from those who didn't believe Dumbledore and Potter and a suppressed scowl from Lucius - directed at Erkuhart for daring to speak the Dark Lord's name. Of course, no one would outright accuse the blondie of that particular truth. Not everyone was as daring as Harry Potter.

"What of it, Lyle?" Ignatius Prewett demanded. Beyond ancient, the man was at least twenty years older than Dumbledore and more blind than sighted. His once auburn hair had turned thin, wispy and white, his once healthy skin was disgustingly wrinkled and all in all, Ignatius prewett didn't have much time left. Still, his voice was disarmingly steady and there was no doubt that he would be active until his dying day.

"To divert attention from the blatant truth," Lyle began, no doubt getting frustrated by the constant interruptions, "Minister Fudge has deemed it fit to reinstate the Hogwarts Inheritance Test."

Minerva McGonagall jumped to her feet, looking utterly outraged. The test had been outlawed before she herself had been a student and for good reason too. Fifteen year olds were far too young to be burdened with familial responsibilities. "That's outrageous!"

She wasn't the only one angered by such news. The Dowager Lady Longbottom was seething, intermittently ranting to Cassiopeia Black and glaring at Lucius Malfoy. Around the table, similar and opposing reactions were taking place. Elezear Doge was shouting at Erkuhart - never mind that the Chairman was only the messenger - Theresa Ogden was ranting to Dumbledore about how foolish an idea this was and Lucius Malfoy was smirking, no doubt pleased with the chaos caused. There was no question in anyone's mind that he had something to do with such a ridiculous reinstatement. He had a motive and was buddies with the MInister, after all.

Erkuhart set off a firecracker from the tip of his wand and the room fell silent. "Now that I have all of your attention," he paused, "We need an intervention."

-!- -#-

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	2. Chapter One: The Unexpected Heritage

**The Lord and his Lady **

**Chapter One: Talks **

Harry was beginning to get tired of feeling perpetually confused. It seemed that since the debacle with the dementors and the ensuing trial, Harry had been stuck in a permanent state of bewilderment. It wasn't getting better, either. Rather, he found himself in an impromptu meeting with Mr and Mrs Weasley, Sirius and the headmaster and Harry wasn't following a word that was being said. Therefore, it begged the question: what was he doing here?

The day had started normally enough. He woke to Ron's stirring, showered and dressed and made his way downstairs. In the basement kitchen, he'd set to work helping Mrs Weasley cook breakfast, ate and talked about nothing and everything with Sirius and all in all, the morning had been pretty average. So when the headmaster made his appearance as he was clearing away the empty breakfast plates, Harry knew beyond reasonable doubt that his usual day had just been shot to hell.

Dumbledore had requested that he have a private word with Sirius and the elder Weasleys. Harry had been prepared to leave with the rest of his friends when Dumbledore had asked him to stay behind. Apparently, whatever the headmaster had to say concerned Harry too. That kicked up a riot with the others, all of whom had insisted that if Harry was going to stay, why couldn't they? They were all thoroughly cowed, however, with a stern glance from the usually affable headmaster.

Once the five had settled down around the dining table, Dumbledore's expression melted away. In it's wake, there showed a man who looked every one of his one hundred and fourteen years. It left Harry reeling and as a result, he'd missed the beginning of the conversation Dumbledore had begun with Sirius and the Weasleys. Harry doubted it would have helped anything anyway - he still had no idea what they were talking about aside from the fact that Fudge was being a moron (again) and that things for Harry would be changing drastically (again).

His confusion must have shown on his face. Sirius took one glance at Harry and interrupted Dumbledore mid-speech. "Harry, do you know what we're talking about?"

"Haven't the foggiest," Harry admitted. A flare of irritation spiked through him, directed at his lack of knowledge concerning the magical world. Not for the first time, he wished he'd grown up in a magical environment. He was sure he wouldn't feel so out of his depth that way. He shoved down his irritation, knowing that this was neither the time nor place for a temper tantrum.

Sirius emitted a frustrated growl and directed an irritated glare at the headmaster. "I've told you time and time again, growing up muggle is not at all appropriate for a Potter. He knows little to nothing about his family and what's expected of him, Albus."

Dumbledore frowned, ignored Sirius' snarled words and instead directed his periwinkle eyes to Harry. "Are you telling me your relatives never told you about your family's history, Harry?"

Harry resisted the urge to fidget under the headmaster's scrutiny. Instead, he shrugged and wondered if he should get defensive. "No. They never tell me anything." The bitterness in his tone was obvious. It was deserved though. For as long as he could remember, the Dursleys had rarely ever given him clues about his past. When they had, they were all lies. Eventually, Harry had stopped bothering to ask.

Dumbledore's frown deepened, further emphasising the wrinkles on his aged face. Harry decided frowning didn't suit the headmaster one bit. The Weasleys and Sirius were frowning as well. Harry wondered how much the Dursleys had blundered by not telling him what they should have.

"Sirius, I'm sure, will fill you in on the details?" Dumbledore looked expectantly at the former Azkaban inmate. The Black scion nodded his affirmative and Dumbledore continued. "Until then, just listen and eventually, the pieces will fall into place. Understood?"

Harry nodded his response and leant back in his chair. The adults continued their conversation.

"I suppose I'd best call Charlie home," Mrs Weasley mused and then she winced. "He won't be pleased."

Next to her, Mr Weasley smiled ruefully. "I'll let you handle that one, Molly."

For a moment, the headmaster's eyes glimmered with amusement. Quickly though, the sparkle diminished and Dumbledore was all business. "I fear that if we do not make plans quickly, Draco Malfoy will be inheriting the Black family estate before long."

"No worries," Sirius said nonchalantly, "I can't have kids. James and I had this planned before they went into hiding. Harry's been named my heir since he was eight months old. All that's left is Harry's consent."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again. "Wonderful. I trust you'll have things arranged by the school term?"

"I'm sure," Sirius agreed. His expression turned incredulous. "But really, the Inheritance Test? What was that man thinking?"

Dumbledore frowned and the age lines deepened again. "I fear that someone else is pulling the strings. Lucius Malfoy is Cornelius' Fudge primary advisor, after all. I would not be surprised were we to learn that it was he who implanted the idea."

"It's ridiculous," Mrs Weasley agreed, "They're only children. How can they know which choices to make?"

Dumbledore smiled consolingly. "Never fear, Molly dear. I'm sure they'll have support."

The Weasley matriarch sniffed her disapproval, got up from her seat and began clearing away the remaining breakfast dishes. Harry moved to help her, though was intercepted by Sirius. "Sit down, Harry. We need to talk."

They watched Dumbledore rise from his seat. Fawkes flamed in overhead, trilled an uplifting song and flashed away with the headmaster. Mr Weasley got to his feet, checked his watch, muttered an oath and made for the door. "It seems I'm late for work."

"Have a good day, Arthur," Mrs Weasley called from the sink.

Sirius looked at Harry, smiled sympathetically and clapped his hands against his thighs. "Where to start?"

"I find the beginning always works," Mrs Weasley deadpanned.

Sirius smirked, glancing sideways at the woman. "Thanks for that, Molly." He rolled his eyes, though he quickly turned serious. "There was a lot of controversy concerning your trial, Harry. It wasn't because it was a case of underage magic though. It was because of who you are."

"What?" Harry asked, feeling simultaneously irritated and incredulous. "Because I'm the boy-who-lived?"

Sirius shook his head, frowning deeply. He muttered an oath directed at Harry's relatives and replied, "No, Harry - not because you're the 'boy who lived'." The title was said with an eye roll. Harry could almost picture the quotation marks. "It's because you're a Potter. More specifically, you're the last Potter." Sirius shook his head. "We'll get back to that though. The beginning takes place - I don't know - somewhere in the middle ages."

"Oh?"

"The magical world was once a monarchy," Sirius began. "The royal family had a magical son and they crowned him king of magical Britain. Because the kid was only twelve, he was appointed twenty four advisors. They came to be titled Lord so and so and were, as is obvious, advisors to the king. The advisory roles became hereditary and so life went on. New kings were crowned, new advisors replaced their forefathers. One day, the royal magical family died out."

"Just like that?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"No, actually," Sirius admitted, "I'd say it was the 1600's. America was being colonised, Christ was being worshipped all over the place and witches - real or assumed - were being burnt at the sake left, right and centre. The Catholic Church, in a bid to demolish the magical world - attacked the magical royal family. Every one of them was killed."

"Yikes," Harry cringed. He regretted asking.

Sirius waved a flippant hand. "Yeah, so there was no one left to take the throne. To this day, there hasn't been a magical royal since. The general consensus is that there never will be a magical monarch again. I digress. So the throne was empty and the magical world was in turmoil. The twenty four advisors were those the people turned to and then - like that - the magical world became an oligarchy."

"Like that?" Harry repeated, skeptic.

Sirius rolled his eyes and again, he waved a flippant hand. "No, not just like that but whatever, you can get the details from Hermione later."

"What's an oligarchy, anyway?" Harry queried.

"It's a concept adopted from the Ancient Greeks - the Spartans, specifically," Sirius replied. "It's basically when a nation is ruled by a group of people. In this case, the twenty four Lords of what we now consider the Ancient and Noble houses."

"Ah," harry acknowledged. He made a mental note to get a more in depth explanation from Hermione. Better yet, he might just look it up himself, though that was probably unlikely.

"So the twenty four Lords began governing the magical world. But then the public began calling for an elected leader. Around this time, the Magna Carta was being introduced to muggle Britain - thus the role of Minister for Magic was introduced."

He wondered why none of this was taught in History of Magic. It was a good deal more interesting than the numerous goblin rebellions that had taken place over the years. Then again, maybe it was just the teacher.

Sirius conjured himself a glass and some water, drank a mouthful and continued. "Together, the Ancient and Noble houses and the Minister for Magic created the Ministry and it's governing body. You can probably guess that it is what we know as the Wizengamot."

Harry nodded, having had assumed as much.

"Alright, so there's the basics of the Ministry's early history. What really needs to be addressed are the Ancient and Noble houses. There were twenty four of them - split up into three factions or - rather - alliances as per their respective ideologies. Historically, they were called the Conservative, neutral and Revolutionary parties, but as time went by, they were quickly recognised to be the dark, grey and light alliances."

"Oh?"

"There were eight houses in each party - for balance's sake, you know."

"Right," Harry acknowledged.

"In the dark alliance, there were the families Black, Flint, Lestrange, Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, Rookwood and Rosier."

"What a surprise," Harry drawled.

Sirius gave a sardonic smile but nevertheless continued. "In the grey alliance, there are the families Brocklehurst, Davies, Greengrass, Hopkirk, Marchbanks, McMillan, Ogden and Wood.

"And the light alliance?"

"Abercrombie, Bell, Bones, Longbottom, Potter, Prewett, Turpin and Zeller."

"Oh?"

"So because you're the last and only heir to the Ancient and Noble house of Potter, the Wizengamot got into a big snit about you being tried for underage sorcery. it was a huge farce, to be honest. To clean up the mess he's made, Fudge has returned an old tradition at Hogwarts."

"This Inheritance Test you were talking about, right?"

"Precisely," Sirius confirmed. "Originally, it was there to find a possible heir to the throne. With the role of Minister for Magic though, the test was abolished. With good reason, too. Children were being forced to inherit all the responsibilities of formally dormant lines and all in all, the entire affair wasn't pretty. So it was abolished and now it's back. No one's very happy about it."

"It might be a thick question, but what does this have to do with me?"

"As the Potter heir," Sirius began, "You would be required to take up headship of your family and fill your family's seat in the Wizengamot."

He resisted the urge to mutter about the fact that there was no family for him to Lord over. Instead, he waited for Sirius to continue.

"You would have had to sooner or later, I suppose. You can only enter your family vaults if there's a head of house. Everyone simply feels that the age of fifteen is far too young to be becoming the leader of anything - least of all your family's estate."

He felt lost and didn't know what to say. Eventually, he managed something intelligible. "So I'll be becoming Lord Potter?"

"Yes," Sirius confirmed, nodding succinctly. "This September, if Fudge gets his way."

"What does that entail?"

"Magical, legal and financial emancipation, access to your family estate and all that which goes with it and responsibility of your house and those within it."

"There's no one in my house," Harry stated.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "You'll get married one day, I'm sure. Have kids and whatnot."

"Not with Voldemort around," Harry muttered cynically.

Sirius shrugged. He didn't have anything to say to that. "There's also the possibility of a betrothal contract."

"What?"

"I'll go into detail another day," Sirius decided. "I think you've gotten enough information for today. I'm going to go find Remus. Why don't you go find your friends?"

Harry nodded his agreement and looked around. Other than the two of them, the kitchen was empty. He hadn't even noticed that Mrs Weasley had left. He supposed it didn't matter though. He got to his feet and followed Sirius out of the kitchen. While the fugitive slipped into the dully lit drawing room, Harry took the stairs up two levels, crossed the hallway and entered he and Ron's bedroom. Unsurprisingly, the others were gathered there: Hermione, Ron, Fred, George and Ginny. Hermione was reading a book (of course) though the four siblings were in the midst of an enthusiastic game of exploding snap. When Harry entered though, both the game and the book were forgotten in lieu of something infinitely more interesting - namely: what went down in the kitchen that they couldn't hear.

"What was it?" Hermione demanded, "Has something happened?"

Harry shook his head as he settled down against the backboard of his bed. "Sirius was just telling me some stuff about my family. Apparently, Fudge has reintroduced the Inheritance Test at Hogwarts."

"You joke!" Fred exclaimed, looking as if someone had just clubbed him over the head with his own beater bat.

"I kid you not," Harry insisted, "From what I gathered, the fifth years will be taking it this September."

"Bugger me," Ron breathed. It earned him a hit over the noggin with Hermione's latin thesaurus. "Bloody hell, Hermione - watch what you're doing with that thing."

"Watch your mouth, Ronald," Hermione chastised, looking unrepentant. She looked to Harry. "The Inheritance Test? That's… gah!" She looked like she was about to throw both her arms up in the air before she remembered that they were weighed down by the phonebook sized monstrosity she called light reading.

"At least you won't be alone?" Ron tried to sound positive, though failed miserably.

Harry grunted.

"I suppose Charlie will be coming home then," Ron continued, "Otherwise that would risk me becoming Lord Prewett." The ginger scrunched up his nose at the notion. "Merlin I hope he comes home."

"Your mum mentioned that she'd be contacting him. Is that why? He'll be Lord Prewett?"

Ron nodded. "Our Uncles died without any heirs. The next eligible heirs are Bill and Charlie. Because Bill is the eldest and the Weasley line takes precedence, Bill is the Weasley heir. Because Charlie's the second son, he became the Prewett heir." Ron pondered for a moment. "It's a good thing too. Percy's too much of a prick and the twins would bring any of those old codgers to suicide before their first session even began."

"Hey now," Fred protested.

George picked up his twin's thread. "We resemble that."

They all laughed, suitably calmed. Knowing that the Inheritance Test was something they couldn't help, the twins, Ginny and Hermione departed, leaving Ron and Harry alone in their room.

"Don't think I didn't notice you cut yourself short just then," Harry chastised, "What was all that about? Why don't you reckon you'd be a good head of house?"

Ron gave him a sideways glance, as if questioning Harry's state of mind. "Mate, have you met me?"

Harry scowled, reached for his pillow and threw it at his friend. "Enough of that self-deprecating bollocks, Ron."

Ron shook his head, lazily threw Harry's pillow back at him and sighed. "Mate, I can hardly take care of myself. I wouldn't know how to take care of other people. As head of house, being responsible for it's members comes with the title. It's something I've never wanted. In truth, I feel sorry for you and Charlie. It's not a pretty job."

"Neville as well," Harry added.

Ron grunted. "Whatever. I'm going to get something to eat." The redhead stood and exited the room.

Harry leant back against the headboard and closed his eyes. His mind was a whirl of thoughts and emotions that he couldn't categorise. He didn't bother trying to. Instead, he inhaled deeply and tried to think about nothing more important than flying strategies.

Even with gargantuan effort, Harry's mind went back to the revelations made only moments earlier. He was a Lord - or at least would be. He who had slept in a cupboard for the first ten years of his life was a noblemen. It made him feel queasy even thinking about it. He'd never wanted to stand out in his life. Was blending in to the background too much to ask? He gave a weary groan and wondered what the coming months would throw at him. No doubt, it wouldn't be anything pleasant.

-!- -#-

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	3. Chapter Two: The Blood Adoption

**The Lord and his Lady **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter universe. ALl recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Two: Blood **

Exploring Grimmauld Place was probably not the best of ideas. The place was as dark as the family's name and in his wanderings, he'd come across a number of secrets that would have been better off buried with their keepers. Still, his explorations gave him time to think away from his rambunctious surrogate family and for that, he'd become the newest keeper of just about any of the Black family's secrets.

After learning of his family's history, Harry had put up a calm facade. In all actuality, he was entirely overwhelmed with the situation and wasn't at all sure of what to do next. Learning about how his parents had died was one thing. Learning that they'd left behind an inheritance beyond him was another thing entirely. Harry had been raised as a penniless orphan. At the age of eleven, he'd learnt of a trust fund his parents had left him. He'd used that money sparingly, having been under the assumption that it was all he'd been left. Knowing that wasn't actually the case? It had left him reeling and Harry didn't know how to pull himself back together.

Unfortunately for Harry, the revelations weren't yet done with him. He didn't know that though. For the moment, he was of the assumption that his Potter family legacy was the only bombshell he'd been landed with. It would teach him to stop assuming things, but right now, the only thing on his mind was the old leather journal he'd found belonging to one Regulus Arcturus Black. Before he could open it though, the door he'd shut upon entry creaked open and in strode Sirius. Harry relaxed his arm, only belatedly realising that he'd raised his wand on his godfather - how awkward.

"Sirius," Harry greeted. He pocketed his wand and hoped the Marauder hadn't noticed. Lady Luck was not on his side. For a man who'd spent twelve years trapped in his worst memories, Sirius still continued to be as sharp as ever.

"Good reflexes," the man commended. He settled down in a dusty armchair and cast his gaze out the grimy window. "You found my brother Regulus' room. Have you uncovered anything interesting?"

Harry glanced down at the journal in his lap and shrugged. "JUst a diary, I think."

Sirius acknowledged Harry's words with a thoughtful hum and Harry wondered what was on his godfather's mind. The man had a tendency to get lost in his own thoughts. Usually, Remus was around to pull the dog animagus away from them. Right now though, Harry was the only one around. "He was only eighteen when he died. He did something that pissed off Voldemort and got killed for his efforts."

Harry swallowed hard and - unbidden - his thoughts went to Cedric. The Hufflepuff had only been an innocent bystander: caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Was it the same for Regulus? Had he only been a victim of circumstance or had he done something to truly earn Voldemort's ire? Harry would never know. In truth, he didn't want to. "I'm sorry."

Sirius turned his head and eyed Harry, nonplused. "Whatever for? You didn't tell my brother to go and get himself killed. Hell - you were barely a month old."

Harry chewed his bottom lip and shrugged, unable to think up a response. Instead, he glanced back down at the journal and thought of Regulus Black. When he'd died, he'd only been three years older than Harry was now. Unlike Harry though, Regulus wouldn't be getting any older. He would forever be eighteen, living on only in the memories of his friends and family.

"My parents adored him. In their eyes, he could do no wrong. They would always compare us and always, I'd be found lacking. They had always questioned my grandfather Arcturus' decision to make me the heir apparent. Eventually, I began to question him as well." Sirius continued on, lost in thoughts and seemingly unaware of what he was saying. Through it all, Harry listened in silence. He noted the similarities between his and Sirius' respective childhoods but never commented on it. Still, he felt markedly closer to the man than a few hours earlier. "Arcturus made me his heir apparent when I was seven years old. At the time, it was something I could brag about to my cousins and brother. Back then, I didn't understand. When I was older, I began to resent my grandfather for the responsibility he'd foisted on me. In my mind, it had been his way of trapping me in the family and home I hated above anything else. When I was seventeen, he died. On his deathbed, I asked him why. He told me that - one day - I'd understand. To this day, I haven't the foggiest idea of what he had meant." Sirius chuckled bitterly and swept a hand through his once-glossy black hair. Thoughtfully, he added, "I guess I'll never know now."

Harry continued to stay silent, sensing that Sirius had yet to finish with what he had to say. Therefore, he waited patiently and was rewarded for his efforts. Sirius continued talking.

""We joined the Order straight out of Hogwarts," Sirius began, "And after a fast tracked education in duelling - courtesy of Alastor - James and I went to the frontline. We were part of a six person first response team. I'm the only one left. Benjamin Fenwick disappeared in March of 1980. They found what was left of him a month later. The Prewett twins went out in a blaze of glory. While they gave the rest of us time to escape, they took out a team of Voldemort's best. It took five death eaters to bring them down. James was next - then Frank. During a skirmish in Helga's Valley, I was separated from the team. I remember seeing Frank and James fighting back to back. Those two had been like brothers since they were young. It should be no surprise, of course. They were godbrothers, after all. Benji had been taking potshots from the rooftops. The twins were on some sort of suicide trip, running head long into the death eater ranks. I honestly don't know how they got out of that mess alive. I couldn't watch them for long though. I got into a duel with Lucius and all my attention had turned to either staying alive or beating the bastard."

Harry could almost picture it. He imagined being in Sirius' shoes, seeing his team mates in mortal peril but not being able to do anything about it. Stepping into a duel with Malfoy and wondering if he'd get out. Harry wondered how they had managed it time and time again. He was certain he couldn't be able to do it. Then again, maybe they hadn't had a choice.

"I seemed to have the upper hand. Lucius though - Lucius is cunning. More so than I gave him credit for. I became over confident and paid the price."

"What happened?" Harry queried. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. Still, it would be his curiosity that killed him and so he waited, anxious.

"I was cursed," Sirius replied simply, "It hurt like hell. I passed out. When I woke up, I was in St. Mungo's and told I would never be able to have children. The curse was a sterility curse. I hadn't even known such a curse existed, but trust Lucius to know the most obscure of dark magic." The last was said with a contemptuous sneer across Sirius' face. Harry couldn't blame Sirius. If someone had cursed him like that, he'd hate the man too. "I didn't tell anyone - not for a while. I was ashamed, to be honest. But then Regulus died and he wasn't there to take up the Black family headship. I needed an heir - a son - that I couldn't have. So I went to James. We talked. I left with the promise that James would talk to Lily. The next time I saw them, they had agreed to let me name you my heir - under conditions, of course."

"Under conditions?" Harry queried, seeking clarification. "What conditions?"

"You would need to know all the details. After I told you, I would need your consent before going through with it."

"So what do I need to know?"

Sirius sighed, palmed his face and cast his glance out the grimy window. "Only someone of Black family blood can accept the Black family Lordship. Unfortunately, your connection via Dorea isn't close enough."

"Which means I can't accept it, right?"

Sirius shrugged. "This is where things get complicated."

"Oh?"

"There's a ritual," Sirius began, "It's general referred to as a blood adoption. It's fairly self-explanatory. If you were to give your consent, you would be required to partake in this ritual. Essentially, you would become my son - not only legally, but magically and biologically as well."

Harry opened his mouth to ask a question, but Sirius must have guessed his enquiry because he raised a hand, halting Harry's words in his throat.

"James and Lily would still be your parents. I would never suggest it if the case were otherwise. You would - in essence - have two fathers. You'd become - in the eyes of magic - a pureblood. The muggle DNA in your system - however - would counteract any of the negative effects of any inbreeding. James and I are related - albeit distantly - and because of that, inbreeding would be inevitable."

"So you'd be my father?"

"If you'll have me," Sirius confirmed.

"Why? Why me?"

Sirius' gaze was soft as he looked at Harry. "Because I loved you the moment I held you in my arms. Because since the day you were born, you were the most important thing in my life."

Harry nodded, swallowing hard. Here was Sirius, offering to be the father Harry had never been able to have. He had no words. So instead of trying to find some, he only nodded. The delighted grin on Sirius' face was entirely worth it.

"Wonderful."

Unfortunately for Harry, there was a lot more to being Sirius' son than just having a father to turn to. As the hours crept by, Harry was given a condensed lesson in politics, Wizengamot history, the Black family charter, societal expectations of the heir to an Ancient and Noble House, the Black family alliances, feuds and status in society and a whole lot of other things that had gone in one ear and out the other. By lunch time, Harry could barely think straight he was so overwhelmed. He had to be dragged into the kitchen to eat and while everyone around him talked as if they had no cares in the world, Harry stared blankly at the pitcher of orange juice in front of him, all the while mechanically eating his way through the food repeatedly stacked on his plate. Apparently, everyone had taken advantage of his mindless state to feed him as much food as possible.

Once he could eat no more, Sirius had him get dressed to leave the house. Bewildered, Harry did as he was told, only to meet Remus in the foyer. The lycanthrope looked a little worse for ware, dressed in a set of faded robes and looking for all the world like he'd just rolled out of bed. A warm smile lit up his prematurely aged face though and his whisky eyes showed welcome. Together, they left the house and made for the front stoop.

"Remus, what are we doing?"

"Your godfather has instructed me to take you to Gringott's," Remus replied, offering Harry his arm. "If you just hold on, I'll apparate us there."

Harry did so. After the entirely too uncomfortable feeling of being squeezed through a drinking straw, he found himself in the alleyway behind the Leaky Cauldron.

"That was awful," the teenager declared, "Blimey, you'd think with magic they'd make transport more comfortable."

Remus gave a tired sounding laugh but didn't respond otherwise. Instead, he opened the entry to Diagon Alley and in a companionable silence, the two made for Gringott's bank. The architectural masterpiece shone in the summer sun and Harry, unused to such bright things after the darkness of Grimmauld Place, found himself squinty eyed as they approached.

In the lobby, they stepped in line for the next available teller. Feeling subconscious, Harry patted down his fringe and looked around with a wary eye. After being bashed in the Prophet for the last two months, he wasn't particularly keen on interacting with total strangers - though that was nothing new.

"So what are we doing here?" Harry queried.

Remus cast Harry a sideways glance before speaking. "The adoption. It needs to be done as soon as possible." Another glance was spared his way. "If you're having second thoughts, we can leave."

"No," Harry replied, vehement. "I want this."

Remus searched for something in Harry's gaze. Seeming to have found it, his stern expression softened into a pleased smile. "Good. Good. You're going to make him extraordinarily happy, you know."

Harry smiled. "That's good to hear. I'm really happy about it as well."

Remus squeezed Harry's shoulder but before anything else could be said, a teller was made available. They approached it quickly and Remus, without words, passed over a letter Harry hadn't noticed him holding. The goblin, upon reading the missive, looked between the two wizards, nodded to himself and gestured for them to follow. They did so and were led through a labyrinth of corridors, finally coming to a stop in front of a heavy looking set of double doors.

"Wait here," the goblin instructed. He entered the room beyond the doors and returned only moments later. "You may enter."

They did so and behind them, the goblin shut the doors on his way out. The room was opulent, decorated with gold trimmings and antique wooden furniture. Behind the ornate mahogany desk, a goblin with gold rings hanging from his beard and ears and nose sat in a high backed chair, scrutinising the teen and the werewolf. Diamond studded teeth could be seen through a slight quirk to the goblin's lips, but Harry paid them no heed. He didn't know what diamond studded teeth meant in the goblin realm. Instead, he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"Lord Sirius Black wishes to blood adopt one Harrys James Potter. How interesting."

Harry simply nodded, unsure what else to do or say. Goblins were an entirely different race to wizards. He was pretty sure there were some sort of cultural differences between them. Out of fear of offending, he simply did nothing. Finally though, the goblin broke the silence.

"The fee is one hundred galleons."

"Of course," Harry acknowledged. He moved to withdraw his trust vault key from his pocket, but before he could, Remus dropped a sack of coins on the goblin's desk.

"Withdrawn from Sirius Black's personal vault. We don't have much time." Next to the burlap sack of coins, Remus set down a crystal vial. It was full of blood - presumably Sirius'.

"The ritual room will be prepared in ten minutes. For the time being, fill this with your blood." The last was said to Harry as the goblin held out another vial.

Harry accepted it with an acknowledging nod and held his palm out to Remus. Reluctantly, the werewolf sliced it open with a mild cutting hex and Harry let the blood poor into the tube. It was disconcerting to watch his blood drain into the container, but at the same time, he couldn't look away.

When a goblin entered the office, Harry and Remus were led into a healing bay. There, Harry was poked and prodded and examined with goblin magic. Afterwards, the goblin thrust a vile looking potion at Harry and instructed him to drink. Warily, he eyed it and asked, perhaps against his better judgement, what it was.

The goblin scowled. "It's a potion to repair any damage done to your body. This includes malnutrition, unhealed injuries, infections and other such maladies. Now drink."

Harry did as he was told but felt no immediate effect. Rather than question the healer, he simply assumed it was one that would take effect over time.

Following the healing bay, they were led into an antechamber with a window looking into the ritual room. From the anteroom, he watched a pair of goblins painstakingly draw out a runic circle with exacting detail. Before he could attempt (and fail) to decipher the runes though, he was instructed to strip naked.

"Err… what?"

Remus suppressed a laugh to answer. "For a ritual to take proper effect, any impurities must be removed from your person. That means your clothes and glasses. You'll be bathed next, I'm sure."

True to his words, after Harry was free of his clothes and glasses, a goblin sponged him down with a translucent substance that, apparently, wasn't water. It left him feeling cleaner than he'd ever known he could be and truthfully, he didn't want the feeling to go away.

When the preparations were made, Harry was led into the main chamber and laid out in the middle the runic circle. There, one of the goblins took care to write out some more runes on his body - again in precise detail. As he did so, Harry could feel the magic building up around them. The ritual hadn't yet begun and he could feel magic pressing down around him. It threatened to suffocate him and still, he felt warm and safe. The magic wouldn't hurt him. It couldn't.

Later, Harry would be asked what the ritual had been like. In truth, Harry couldn't rightly say but for that it was painful. Excruciatingly so. He was being torn inside out and forced back together. He was shrinking and growing and dying and living and the cruciatus didn't hold a candle to this agony. He'd go mad. This goblin torture would surely kill him.

And then it was over.

The silence after the ritual was broken only by Harry's heavy breathing. He stared blankly at the stone ceiling overhead and wondered if this was what insanity was like. Surely, it couldn't be so bad. But then the chamber door was opened and the steady footsteps of Remus Lupin approached.

"Moony," Harry croaked.

"Hey cub," Remus greeted. Harry could feel him crouch beside Harry's prone form. "Don't worry, Harry. It's over now."

Water was conjured and Harry drank it down greedily. When he was sated, robes were conjured and Harry dressed, finally remembering that he was butt naked in front of his father's best friend. Unsteadily, Harry got to his feet - for once grateful for the support. Remus kept a steady arm around Harry until Harry was able to walk on his own two feet. His centre of balance was off, though he quickly realised why. He was taller - much taller than he remembered.

"Bloody hell. What did that ritual do to me?"

Remus snorted, conjured a mirror and let Harry see for himself. Gone was the too-thin, lanky frame. In it's stead, Harry was now 6'2", with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Gracefully long legs, well muscled arms and a face the perfect blend of James Potter's effeminate and Sirius Black's aristocratic features. Harry's eyes were still the almond shaped, emerald green of his mother's, though they were now framed by thick black lashes. Gone was the veritable bird's nest he'd inherited from James and instead, his hair fell in graceful waves to his shoulders - still as black as ever. In all, harry barely recognised himself.

"Bugger me," Harry breathed.

Remus gave a hearty laugh and banished the mirror. After thanking the goblins who'd done the ritual, Remus led a still stunned stupid Harry out of the bank and into the bustling alley. They still had a lot to do.

-!- -#-

**Author's Note:** I don't even know what to say. You guys are just so amazing. I'm so incredibly touched - I have no words. Thank you so much for coming back. It means so much.

But anyway. Before I get even more sappy, you can have my thoughts on this chapter.

I dithered over the blood adoption for so long, I was beginning to annoy myself. I hate the cliche, but I couldn't think of any other way to make Harry the heir (and Lord) of a house (and family) who put so much stock into blood - more specifically pureblood. This chapter feels kind of rushed and still, I hadn't expected it to be so long.

I hope you enjoyed. I'd appreciate your thoughts. Remember, I'm vision impaired so most Potterisms (Rowlingisms?) go over my head. Please let me know of any spelling mistakes so I can fix them in future.

Until next time

-t


	4. Chapter Three: The Uncomfortable Changes

**The Lord and his Lady **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter universe. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Three: Floundering **

Though getting rid of Dudley's hand-me-downs was understandable, Harry thought buying an entirely new wardrobe to replace them was a bit of overkill. Standing at the stoop of Order headquarters, the metaphorical burden of his purchases weighed heavy on his shoulders. Of course, they were all shrunken and feather light in his pocket so the weight was all figurative, but the weight was there nonetheless. He thought about Ron - who was used to secondhand things as much as Harry was - and wondered what his friend would think.

"Come on, Harry," Remus coaxed, already standing in front of the door. "No use loitering where anyone can see you." Grudgingly, Harry followed his former professor into the kitchen, though in all actuality, all Harry wanted to do was hide out in his room and pretend none of this inheritance business was actually happening. Alas, Remus' grip on Harry's forearm was firm and Harry couldn't have escaped if he'd tried.

In the kitchen, Dumbledore, Sirius, Charlie and a bloke Harry vaguely recognised from Moody's photo to be Elphias Doge were gathered around the kitchen table, apparently talking. Dumbledore had a pipe between his lips, a cigar was burning out in an ash tray and Harry had never been witness to a scene so peculiar in his life.

"Ah," Sirius got to his feet and approached, arms outstretched, "You've returned. Let me see you." Sirius took hold of Harry's shoulders and turned Harry so they were properly facing each other. "Wow. You'll certainly be a heartbreaker."

Harry rolled his eyes, shrugged off Sirius' hands and scratched at the back of his head, feeling uncomfortable. All eyes were on him and the attention was unnerving. "It's weird," he admitted, "I've grown about half a foot since this morning. I can hardly walk without falling over my own feet."

Sirius laughed as he settled Harry down in a chair. SIrius sat down and Remus took the last vacant seat beside the former Azkaban inmate.

"I must say," Dumbledore began, "Being Sirius' son suits you, Harry." He took an inhale from his pipe and managed to blow smoke rings into the already hazy air.

Harry flushed, mumbled an incoherent thanks and accepted the drink Charlie handed to him with an acknowledging nod. He took a swig without looking at what was in the glass and thanked Merlin the twins had introduced him to fire whisky the year before. No doubt, he'd have hacked up half a lung otherwise. The whisky burned on it's way down his throat and for a moment, Harry savoured in it's warmth. Around him, conversation picked up once more and Harry sat back, simply content to listen. The conversation was rather dull, but Harry supposed he ought to catch up with the times. He wasn't interested in politics, but if he were to become Lord Potter (or Lord Black), than he supposed he didn't really have a choice of whether or not he wanted to pursue a career in government.

"I'm telling you Albus," Doge began, pointing a finger in the headmaster's direction, "Cornelius Fudge will ruin us. If nothing is done to stop that bumbling fool, than Voldemort will be able to waltz right into the Ministry and take it over without anyone realising it until he's named Emperor."

Charlie, contentedly sipping at his own tumbler of fire whisky, nodded his agreement. For the first time, Harry noticed the bulky gold ring on the Weasley son's right index finger, though Harry didn't comment on it. Instead, he took another sip of his drink and waited for Dumbledore's response to Doge's declaration.

"There is nothing that can be done," Dumbledore replied, "Not where I am concerned, at any rate. All _I_ can do is hope that Cornelius soon sees the error of his ways."

The emphasis on Dumbledore's position wasn't lost on Harry. Still, the youth wasn't sure what could be done. Fudge was so set in his ways that Harry was certain no one could change them. After all, if Dumbledore couldn't manage it, than who could?

Sirius waved his hand, as if batting away a fly. "Give it time, Dumbledore." They seemed to share a silent conversation no one else was allowed to be witness to but eventually, Dumbledore nodded his concession and the topic was changed. "So what's this I hear about Madam Bones' post being threatened? I happen to think she's a brilliant department head."

Doge scoffed into his tumbler of fire whisky while Dumbledore closed his eyes, exasperated. "It seems Madam Umbridge has taken insult by a minor slight made by Madam Bones. I'm of the impression that Delores seeks to ruin Amelia. Those two have been rivals since their Hogwarts days."

"That hag still works in the MInistry?" Sirius asked, aghast.

Charlie and Remus both suppressed amused snorts, Doge muttered something incomprehensibly and Dumbledore bit back a grin. Finally, Remus collected himself enough to speak. "She does," Remus confirmed, "Senior under-secretary to the Minister of Magic, if you must know. She… enjoys the power her station provides." The last was said with a bitter drawl, but Harry didn't question him. It wasn't his place.

"I fear it won't be the only power Madam Umbridge will have at her disposal," Dumbledore informed, his tone grave and expression resigned.

"What do you know, Albus?" Doge demanded. Despite his age, his brown eyes were sharp and burned into Dumbledore's gaze with an intensity that made Harry glad that his glare wasn't directed at Harry himself.

Dumbledore's frown deepened, further accentuating the age lines around his eyes. "In short, the Ministry - beyond the Inheritance Test - will be interfering at Hogwarts."

"I'd have figured they were too busy burying their heads in the sand," Charlie commented, still nursing his crystal tumbler. "I suppose this year won't be a pretty one for Hogwarts."

Harry resisted the urge to comment. FRom his point of view, no year at Hogwarts was a pretty one. Then again, perhaps he was simply biased.

"I fear you are correct, Charles," Dumbledore acknowledged, "Madam Umbridge will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor."

Harry suppressed a groan and instead took a large sip of his drink. He understood now why 'A Theoritical Application of Defence Against the Dark Arts' was on the booklist. Idly, he wondered how terrible Defence Against the Dark Arts would be. Surely, this woman couldn't top Gildaroy Lockeheart?

"So will you tell me what's new in the Wizengamot?" Charlie broke the silence, "I've only asked three times now."

"The dark alliance seems to have a majority rule," Doge began, "Though that's primarily because many of the other alliances have empty seats: Bones, Longbottom, Potter and Prewett, to name a few. That's only the Ancient houses, too. Let's not forget the Order of Merlin recipients, the Master's Guild, the elected seats and the minor houses."

"Have we looked into gaining allies from the Order of Merlin recipients? I'm pretty sure Persephone Grey wouldn't pass up the opportunity to bring down Voldemort."Dumbledore combed a hand through his beard, contemplating Remus' words. "I will approach Madam Grey with an offer to join," he declared. "But let me worry about that. We're updating Charles and Harry on the Wizengamot, are we not?"

Dumbledore and Doge went on to explain that the dark alliances, with the support of the Fudge administration, were making moves to pass laws that would restrict 'half-breed' witches and wizards. For the most part, they were failing. As it stood, the elected seats, Order of Merlin recipients and the grey and light alliances had enough votes to hold off most of the pureblood supremacist laws. Both Doge and Dumbledore believed though, that it was only a matter of time until Voldemort had enough of a foothold in the magical government to start passing truly blood-purist laws through the Wizengamot.

"Bloody hell," Charlie breathed. He'd set down his tumbler a few minutes into the explanation and seemed to have forgotten about it completely. "It's dark days, I say."

Dumbledore smiled grimly. Harry noted the lack of eye twinkle and something heavy settled in his stomach. "Not quite. I'm certain that if the Ministry continues on this path, however, there will be dark days indeed."

Dumbledore's words hung in the air long after he and Doge departed, oppressive as the smoke clouds overhead. Harry didn't have a response to those words. Looking at Sirius, Remus and Charlie, he noted that neither of them did either. Instead of trying to find one, he drank the last of his whisky, stood up and made his way out of the kitchen.

Harry found himself in the backyard. It was overgrown with weeds and other nasty things and Harry, wary of any venus-fly-trap-like-things, stuck to the back staircase. The sky had turned to dusk, coloured in pastel shades of orange, pink, purple and blue. The sounds of London broke what would have been an otherwise peaceful atmosphere, but Harry revelled in the noise anyway. It was familiar and comforting; something he knew would never go away. London never slept and Harry would never expect it to.

Harry's solitude was broken by Charlie. The ginger held a cigarette in one hand and a wand in the other. Idly, Harry wondered where he'd gotten the cigs from, though he didn't ask. Instead, he greeted the second Weasley brother with a wave and a strained smile before he cast his gaze out to the garden.

"Must be daunting," Charlie mused, speaking around his fag. "I mean, just being told all of this inheritance tripe out of the blue. They expect you to swim and go with the flow, but you don't know how, right?"

Harry glanced sideways at his best friend's brother and shrugged. Charlie had hit the nail on the head as far as Harry was concerned, though he wouldn't admit to any weakness. Harry wasn't sure of what he had left from before this summer, but he knew he still had his pride. "I'm fine."

Charlie smiled dryly. "After a Hungarian Horntail and other such beasties, I'm pretty sure politics is a cakewalk."

Harry's responding smile was a bitter one. He shrugged, as if to say it was nothing and turned to go inside. Before he could, one of Charlie's callused hands closed around Harry's wrist. "Can I give you a word of advice?" Harry shrugged and Charlie continued. "Politics is full of people with their individual agendas. For all they spout about the good of the community, all those politicians care about are themselves - and maybe their families. Keep that in mind. Don't wear your heart on your sleeve. In that world, it could ruin you."

Harry nodded, Charlie let him go and the teenager returned inside. In the library, Remus was quietly combing through the dusty shelves. He wore a disapproving frown on his face - one that Harry recognised from Remus' stint as Harry's professor. It was his 'I'm-disappointed-in-you-for-breaking-my-very-simple-classroom-rules' frown that had never failed to make Harry squirm. Even with nothing more than a student/teacher relationship, Harry had hated to disappoint Remus.

"What did the books do to deserve that look from you, Remus?" Harry queried as he leant against the doorjamb.

Remus turned, smiled his greeting and returned his gaze to the bookshelves. "I'm just not interested in any of these books, is all."

Contrary to popular belief, the Black family library didn't consist solely of books about dark magic. There was a number of genres: Astronomy, Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Transfiguration, Government, Etiquette and any number of other things (including - though not restricted to - the Dark Arts) so Harry, understandably, wondered how not one book couldn't interest Remus. Though the Marauder in question was a self-proclaimed bibliophile, Harry was sure he hadn't had time to read every single one of the books in the Black library. He didn't ask though and instead continued wondering.

"Was there something you wanted, Harry?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. The concerned frown he got in response had him fidget. "I'm… very confused."

Remus set down the book he'd been examining and gestured for Harry to follow him. The teenager did so, to find himself in a small sitting area off the main library. They settled down in two opposing armchairs and Harry - uncomfortable with Remus' attention solely on him - began to fidget again.

"What is it?" Remus probed.

Harry shrugged and waved his hand. "Everything, I guess."

"How about we start with one thing at a time," Remus suggested. "What's on your mind right now?"

"I know very little about politics," Harry admitted, "I'm not at all interested in it, to be honest."

"And no one expects you to be," Remus assured, "But you'll learn. We're here to help you, Harry - any way we can."

"When we were talking about that lady - Umbridge? - you sounded really bitter about something. What was it?"

Remus sighed, carted a scarred hand through tawny hair and cast a searching glance in Harry's direction. "Delores Umbridge is one of the main advocates of werewolf oppression. SHe's made the lives of werewolves all over Britain very difficult."

Harry scowled. "I hate her already."

"I think you'll find that you dislike many politicians," Remus mused, "But that's politics for you. There's no room for friends in the Wizengamot Chambers."

Harry nodded to himself and got to his feet. After thanking Remus, Harry left the library deep in thought. As he made to cross the threshold, he nearly bowled over the canine form of Harry's newly adopted father. It was such a bizarre thought that had Harry stopping in his tracks, bewildered. The thought that he now had a father hadn't sunken in until that point and in truth, Harry wasn't sure how to act. Before he could formulate a possible action plan though, Sirius was in human form and smiling that 'I'm-so-pleased-to-see-you' smile that hadn't yet failed to make a smile form on Harry's own lips.

"Hary," Sirius greeted, "I've been looking all over for you. I had to resort to using my nose, you know? Where have you been?"

Harry shrugged, making his way to the staircase. He still had shopping to unpack. Sirius followed. "Here and there, I guess. Mostly in the backyard."

The bewildered expression on Sirius' face almost made Harry laugh. "What in Merlin's name were you doing out there? It's a dump, didn't you notice? Granted, it's better than being locked up in here - I'll give you that - but that's what the roof is for."

"I was thinking," Harry admitted, "I have a lot on my mind."

"Thinking, huh? Is it thoughts of the female variety?" Sirius waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"What? No." Harry's resulting blush had Sirius laughing.

When they entered the bedroom Harry shared with Ron, the two found the four Hogwarts-bound Weasley children and Hermione gathered there. Harry wondered at which point this particular room became a meeting place, but didn't question it. Instead, he greeted the others quickly, grabbed his trunk and followed Sirius to Regulus' old room. As Harry set to work unpacking his new things and getting rid of his Dursley clothes, he began to talk. Through it all, Sirius listened. "I've never had a parent before. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always made sure to keep me at arms length. I don't know what to do. What do you expect from me? What should I expect from you?"

Harry didn't look up from where he was methodically folding his uniform shirts, but he could still hear Sirius. The man was approaching, but Harry didn't look up until Sirius had Harry's chin in hand and was gently guiding Harry's head. Silver met emerald and for a long while, the two were silent. Finally though, Sirius spoke. "I know this is new for you, pup. It's new for me too. We'll learn as we go, okay? All I can tell you now is that you're not just my heir. Since the day you were born, I've loved you as if you were my own son. Now that you are truly my son, I'm happier than I could ever remember being. I love you, okay? No matter what happens, don't ever forget that."

Harry swallowed hard. Tears burnt behind his eyes and Harry tried not to cry. Through the lump in his throat, he managed to say, "Thank you." And to him, it wasn't enough. Harry wasn't sure if anything he could say would be enough. Still, Sirius seemed to understand. He pulled Harry into a firm embrace and Harry, so overwhelmed, pressed his face into Sirius' bony shoulder.

-!- -#-

Dumbledore and Doge arrived as dinner was being served. Given the presence of Kingsley, Tonks, Emilyn Vance and Hestia Jones, it was easy to realise that an Order of the Phoenix meeting was being held. Harry, surprisingly, found himself seated between Dumbledore and Doge.

"Are you well, Harry?" The headmaster queried. He was no longer dressed in his periwinkle blue robes. Rather, he wore a burgundy coloured number adorned with golden stars. It was a sight for sore eyes, but somehow, Dumbledore pulled the look off seamlessly.

"I'm well, thank you sir. Yourself?"

Dumbledore gave Harry a twinkly eyed smile and Harry, feeling uncomfortable under the man's gaze, turned his attention to his dinner plate. Mrs Weasley had served up steak and mash. Eagerly, Harry dug in. Doge and Dumbledore talked around Harry, about quidditch, about politics, about Hogwarts and other things, but at the end of the meal, both gave Harry words of wisdom that left the teen deep in thought for minutes later. Doge clapped Harry on the shoulder as he got to his feet and with eyes gleaming with the sort of wisdom that came only with age, he said, "Be true to yourself, regardless of what society wants from you, lad."

Then he was gone and in his place was a twinkly eyed headmaster. "I once told you that it doesn't do to dwell on dreams. On that same wavelength, I'll tell you it doesn't do to dwell on the past. Sometimes life takes us where we don't want to go. Unfortunately, there is no way of going back to where you once enjoyed. Accept who and where you are and maybe, the world you find yourself in will become a better place for it."

Later that same night, Harry found himself repacking his trunk. Ron was stretched out across his bed, juggling two pairs of socks and looking bored out of his mind. Hermione was sifting through her Latin thesaurus. Her chestnut curls fell around her thin face and he thought she'd never looked so pretty as she did with a quill pursed between her lips and an ink spot on her cheekbone. If she wasn't so much like a nagging older sister, he might have fallen in love with her.

"I found out that a woman by the name of Delores Umbridge has become Defence Professor," Harry began, "I think I remember her from my trial. She's got this godawful voice and was dressed all in pink. Dumbledore says the Ministry will be interfering at Hogwarts - beyond the Inheritance Test, I mean."

Hermione gave a disapproving frown but didn't comment. Ron gave an acknowledging grunt but like Hermione, didn't say a word. Instead, he launched one of his sock rolls, successfully managing to land it in his open trunk. The second roll followed soon thereafter.

Silence fell.

"You look really different, you know."

Harry glanced up from where he'd been inspecting his glasses. With the blood adoption, Harry's eyes had mended themselves. UNlike the rest of him though, it had taken the rest of the day to do it. Harry didn't know why that was the case, but the adjustment period - never mind how small - was appreciated. Now he examined the frames he'd had since he was five years old and pondered how much his life had changed since then. At the sound of Hermione's voice though, Harry's attention was brought back to the present.

Hermione's gaze was scrutinising and Harry fidgeted, uncomfortable. "It's bizarre, really. You look good though."

"Thanks, I guess," Harry muttered. He carted a hand through his hair, though pulled the limb back quickly. His hair was softer than it had been - tamer, too. It was still jet black and lacked the blueish tint Sirius' hair carried. He was glad. He still wanted to look like a Potter. James was his father, after all. The nervous gesture didn't have the same effect it used to though. His hair felt too different - too alien. He hoped he'd get used to it soon.

"You're different," Hermione said, "It's changing you."

Harry shrugged. HE didn't know what to say. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. "This year will be different. I'm told I'll have commitments - you know - family things." A bitter smile pulled at the corners of his lips. It was ironic. He had family business for a family he didn't have. At least there was Sirius.

"Charlie will be going to Gringott's tomorrow," Ron said, "He'll become Lord Prewett then.

"Bully for him," Harry muttered. Neither of them heard. Harry wasn't looking forward to becoming Lord Potter (or Black) and he doubted Charlie had been looking forward to becoming Lord Prewett. At least he was prepared though. Harry most certainly wasn't. "This year will be dung." And it most certainly would be. After all, O.W.L exams, Umbridge as a professor, the Inheritance Test and all that which went with it…

Harry winced simply thinking about it. Deciding not to, he packed away the last of his things, lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

-!- -#-

**Author's Note:** Just some maintenance to start with. I begin university next week (eep) so updates will probably end up being weekly/fortnightly. Just a bit of forewarning.

To respond to a review that I really should have responded to privately. It had a valid point though. I thought it should be addressed here. Basically, the reviewer stated that the physical changes following the adoption was rather excessive. In truth, that hadn't been intentional. It was simply my lack of knowledge concerning teenage boys rearing it's head. In hindsight though, I'm glad I wrote it in as I had. This story is about teenager's dealing with adult issues. There's nothing quite like 'adult issues' like being forced into an adult's body. I hope I addressed any issues that brought up.

I intended to make this story shorter (chapter wise) than the original but it seems it'll end up being longer. I don't think that will happen though. Funny how things like that work.

Thanks for reading and reviewing and favouriting and alerting. Drop me your thoughts, if you please. I really do enjoy reading them.

Regards

-t


	5. Chapter Four: The Hogwarts Express

The Lord and his Lady

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter universe. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter Four: Returning

The next morning, Harry found himself back in the Black family library.

It was early, the sun barely pinking the sky. This time, however, Remus wasn't there and Harry was alone. It wasn't a new concept for Harry. On Privet Drive, he was perpetually isolated from everyone else and still, he found himself unused to the all-encompassing quiet which had stolen over Grimmauld Place.

Harry sighed and cast his gaze over the shelf of books in front of him. None of them caught his interest. He was tired; though upon waking that morning, he had been restless and unable to return to sleep. In accepting that truth, he'd wandered downstairs with the intention of finding a book to occupy his time.

Now in the library though, it seemed that reading was far from his mind. Still, he had no desire to ponder what awaited him when he returned to school later that day. Instead, he continued his examination of the books the Black family had to offer. It was really a large collection.

Eventually, he came to a stop at the government section. There were such books as 'The History of the Wizengamot' and 'The Rules and Regulations of the Ministry of Magic'. He would probably do well by reading them, but Harry had no particular inclination to take them with him to school. He'd always been the practical learner. Reading a couple of dusty old books wouldn't help him at all.

Nevertheless, they couldn't hurt in the long run. Therefore, he picked up the four relevant texts and headed back to his room, intending to deposit them in his new trunk. Who knew? Maybe Hermione would be willing to translate the text into simple terms for him, though he doubted it. In typical Hermione Granger fashion, she had - upon learning that Hogwarts would be host to the Ministry of Magic's Inheritance Test - thrown herself into studying as much as she could about wizarding genealogy. She'd gone so far as to order some texts internationally but Harry honestly had no idea what information she'd gathered.

In truth, he didn't much care. He knew all he needed to know: he was the heir to two estates he wasn't at all prepared to manage. From the perspective of a Muggleborn who had no history of magic in their family though, he supposed he could understand Hermione's actions … sort of. After all, he'd grown up without knowing his own family history. It wasn't much of a comparison, but it was the best way for him to relate.

When Harry entered the room he shared with Ron, he found his best friend wide awake. Ron was staring at their bedroom ceiling, apparently lost in a world of his own. He decided to leave Ron to his thoughts and instead dropped his books into his trunk. A muttered password had the compartment he'd designated to his school books switch to that which housed his clothing. He still needed to get dressed for the day...

-!- -#-

"What's on your mind?"

Harry and Ron were walking slightly behind the rest of their party, headed for King's Cross Station. Ron had been silent most of the morning, apparently with much on his mind. Harry had noticed Ron's breakfast had suffered, so knew an intervention needed to be made.

Ahead of them, Hermione had an arm linked with Ginny's, though the brunette continuously cast a concerned gaze over her shoulder; apparently having noticed Ron's absent-mindedness as well. Of course, that was no surprise. Hermione noticed everything - particularly when it concerned Ron and Harry.

Ron looked up from his feet, shrugged and mumbled something along the lines of "It's nothing."

Harry didn't buy it, though he wouldn't pry. If Ron hadn't gotten over what was on his mind by that evening, he'd push for an answer. For the moment though, he instead nodded his acknowledgement and turned his attention to the oversized dog currently harassing Alastor.

Sirius had insisted on accompanying the Hogwarts-bound party with Mad Eye, Kingsley, Tonks, Remus and Mrs Weasley. The latter had kicked up a fuss over the matter, though Sirius had eventually won out - under conditions, of course. Sirius was under glamour charms to look like your average German Shepherd- named Rex and owned by Tonks. He was to act completely dog-like, wasn't allowed to do anything that warranted extra attention from unwanted onlookers and finally: he was not to get caught.

Harry didn't think Sirius minded. The man had been locked up in Grimmauld Place for three months straight. By that point, Harry was pretty sure Sirius would disguise himself as a gnat if he could have gotten out of the house - if only for a little while. Even so, it was entirely nerve-wracking.

As expected, King's Cross Station's magical platform 9 and 3/4 was bustling with people. Parents were saying goodbyes to their children for another school year, children were reuniting with friends unseen since before the holidays, animals were causing a ruckus and all in all, it wasn't at all different to the year before. Despite the fact that he'd witnessed it three times before, however, Harry was still entranced by the magic around them. It hummed in his ears, and buzzed beneath his skin. It was happy and excited and anxious and sad. Harry embraced it all, soaking in its welcoming familiarity, a contented smile crossing his face. It felt nice to be somewhere where the magic was so sweet.

After saying their goodbyes, Harry hauled his trunk onto the train. He followed Hermione halfway down the carriage hallway before noticing she was headed for the prefect's compartment. He sighed to himself, unused to spending his train rides alone. He looked around, hoping to see the twins or Ginny. Instead, the corridor was empty and Harry was alone.

Harry slowly meandered up the train carriages. He had no desire to loiter in a hallway where any ill-intending Slytherin could find him. Though he was very much able to hold his own, Slytherins had a tendency to gang up on people and Harry didn't much feel like being a target. Before he found an empty compartment though, he found Neville Longbottom first.

Neville had grown a lot over the summer. It seemed that over the summer, Neville had undergone a similar change to Harry - without the blood adoption. Standing to retrieve something on the overhead trunk rack, Neville stood a little shorter than Harry. The sandy haired Gryffindor looked as uncomfortable in his new skin as Harry felt. It was probably that which possessed him to do it - or maybe he just didn't want to be alone again - but Harry knocked to announce his presence, slid the door open and greeted his quietest roommate with a smile that spoke more than any words needed to. "Neville," he greeted, "Can I join you?"

Neville looked over his shoulder, scrutinised Harry and then nodded, a welcoming smile crossing his features. Gone was the round, baby face Harry had recalled from before the summer holidays. It was a strange sight to see, but Harry was glad to know he wasn't alone in dealing with his current issues. "Harry? I almost didn't recognise you."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably as he settled down across from where he could see Neville had made himself comfortable. He slid his trunk beneath his seat, dropped his backpack in the empty space beside him and sighed. "Neither did I, to be honest: Blood adoption." He shrugged again, feeling that he needed no other explanation. In truth, he didn't.

Neville acknowledged Harry's words with a silent nod, sat back down and began fussing over a cactus-like plant. Rather than needles, however, the thing had greyish coloured boil looking things. Neville, seeing Harry's gaze, began to explain. "It's a Mimbulus Mimbletonia. The boils are a defence mechanism. If you poke them, they'll explode with sap. I'd show you, but we'd look and smell rather awful afterwards. Given how things are…"

Harry nodded his understanding, idly noting that it was probably the most he'd ever heard Neville speak in one sitting. "So did you do anything these holidays? How did you…" he waved a hand, gesturing vaguely. What he meant to ask was what had been the catalyst for his friend's fast tracked maturity. He wouldn't actually ask that though. It sounded awkward in his head. He wouldn't imagine how strange it would be out loud.

"My Uncle and I went to Greece," Neville replied. "And I'm not really sure, to be honest. It just… happened. It was… very uncomfortable."

"I'll say," Harry agreed.

"So what about you? Do anything interesting on your holidays?"

"No. I ahhh… just preparing, I guess."

"What for? You Know Who, or the Inheritance Test?"

Harry gave a bitter smile, cynically amused. "Both, I suppose."

Conversation between the two fell short after that, finally broken by the door sliding open. In the doorway, there stood four other fifth years: two Hufflepuffs and two Ravenclaws. Susan Bones and Ernie McMillan were already dressed in their uniforms, though Lisa Turpin and Mandy Brocklehurst were yet to don anything over their white button-down shirts.

"Just the two we were looking for," Susan declared, all smiles, "Do you mind if we join?"

Harry and Neville shrugged simultaneously. In response, the four filed in and settled down in the remaining seats. There was an awkward moment of complete silence, finally broken by an uncomfortable Neville.

"Did you enjoy your holidays?"

"My aunt had me doing duelling and spell practise all holidays. It was exhausting, though worthwhile." Susan began. She cast a sideways glance in Harry's direction and smiled supportively. "My aunt and I believe you, Harry. There's too much for us to lose if we buried our heads in the sand."

Harry smiled, inexplicably pleased. It was nice to know that at least one person he was acquainted with was willing to listen.

"My family does as well," Ernie added, "We can all read between the lines. Most are just too scared to admit to what is right in front of them. Later, they'll rue the day when they decided to ignore yours and Dumbledore's warnings."

Across from Ernie, Lisa Turpin nodded her head, glossy black curls bouncing with the movement. "Old, Professor Dumbledore may be, but senile he is not - and to slander the heir of an Ancient and Noble house? It's despicable." She hadn't glanced up from her lacquered nails, though her words rang through the compartment all the same. "My family's already begun to make plans. My father is determined to not be caught in whatever mess Fudge has sewn. I, too, have been learning all I can to protect myself. No doubt, such situations will arise in the coming months."

"If not years," Neville said, his face grim. Silently, Harry agreed with his housemate's sentiment. If Voldemort wasn't dead yet, there was obviously a reason why. Whatever it wasn't yet resolved and Harry didn't think it would be any time soon.

Mandy's eyes were wide as she looked between the two Gryffindors. In the time Harry had been at Hogwarts, he'd only had one interaction with the girl; a request to borrow one of her quills during one of their third year Charms classes. It wasn't at all near enough to consider her an acquaintance - never mind a friend - so he was surprised to recognise the expression of fear on her heart shaped face as she turned to look at him. "You really think it will last that long?" she asked anxiously.

A bitter smile crossed Harry's face. The Ravenclaw seemed naive to the world around her. He wondered what she knew of the first war - if anything. It honestly wouldn't have surprised him to learn that her family had sheltered her from the gritty reality of the world outside her ancestral home. "I have no doubts," Harry admitted, "Voldemort isn't just a fly that can be batted away." They all flinched at the name but Harry, though he rolled his eyes, refrained from commenting.

"I suppose not," the girl conceded. She bowed her head, her brow furrowed in thought. Harry let her be and turned his gaze back to his housemate.

"What do you think, Neville? Being a lord at the age of fifteen wasn't on my to-do list."

"Nor mine," Neville agreed, "But what can we do?" He paused for a moment before continuing. "Besides, it would have happened sooner or later."

Harry shrugged. He wouldn't admit in front of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs that he hadn't known of his heritage until only a week ago. Instead, he said, "I'd have preferred later. I'll admit the perks are nice though."

Neville nodded his agreement, though didn't comment otherwise. Instead, he turned his attention to the plant in his lap. Harry left him to it and instead brought out one of the books he'd retrieved from the Grimmauld Place library. He'd planned to pass his time on the train reading up on what he should have learned as a child. 'The Rules and Regulations of the Ministry of Magic' seemed like a good place to start. The text was dreadfully boring, though really, Harry didn't have much of a choice. He needed to learn this information (preferably yesterday) and didn't have the time to waste. Around him, the others found their own ways to pass the time. Mandy brought out 'An Anthology of Ancient Runes' and seemed to have blocked out the world around her. Lisa was idly flipping through a Quidditch Weekly magazine, smacking her gum and tapping her foot on the compartment floor. It was annoyingly monotonous but Harry couldn't bring himself to ask her to stop. Next to him, Susan and Ernie had set up a chess board between themselves. From what Harry could see, it seemed they were a fair match. Neville had fallen asleep, his plant cradled in his lap and free hand curled around the wand Harry could see sticking out of Neville's pocket.

After completing his observations, Harry returned to his book and wondered when Section 34, sub-section c of the Wizengamot Code of Conduct had begun to look the same as Section 14, subsection a of the King's Criminal Code. Either way, he had decided he needed a break, dropped the book down between himself and Susan and stood up to stretch. "I'm going to the trolley," he declared. Neville jolted from his nap and they all looked up at him, startled. "Does anyone want anything?"

Susan jumped to her feet, auburn braid flying behind her. It managed to catch Ernie in the nose and he swore, annoyed.

"Bloody hell, Susan, watch what you're doing with that thing, yeah? You could knock an eye out with it."

"Sorry, Ernie, I'll get you some frogs to pay you back. I'll come with you, Harry." She looked to the two Ravenclaws, "The usual?""

Mandy smiled her thanks. Lisa said hers.

As they strode down the train carriages, the silence between them was surprisingly comfortable. Harry could count on one hand the number of times he and Susan had shared an in-depth conversation, but the two had always shared an unspoken understanding. Like Harry, she'd lost her family in the war and no one else - excepting Neville - had ever understood what that meant. Still, the ease at which Harry walked by Susan's side surprised him. He didn't comment on it though. Instead, he kept his eyes on the halls in front of him, seeking out the trolley lady and her sweet-laden trolley.

"Are you nervous?"

"I'm sorry?" Susan's question had surprised him. He wasn't sure of what she was referring to.

"About the Inheritance Test," she clarified. She was twirling the end of her braid around her index finger, hazel eyes darting around the corridor - anywhere but Harry.

Harry shrugged. "Not really. I already know what I'll be inheriting. It's becoming Lord Potter that I'm worried about." He sighed and carded a hand through his hair. Again, the feeling was an alien one, but Harry tried not to pay it any heed. "I'm not ready, I suppose."

"I don't blame you," Susan acknowledged, "It must be hard though - coming into a world and then having this thrust upon you. I suppose you thought you had time, right?"

Harry was rescued from answering upon seeing the trolley lady. They approached her quickly, bought everything they wanted, and returned to the compartment. Their purchases were deposited on the lid of Ernie's closed trunk and they dug in eagerly; a free for all that rivalled the Weasley dinner table like nothing else Harry had ever seen.

It was an hour later when Hermione and Ron appeared in the doorway of their compartment. The former scrutinised its occupants, smiled sadly and looked to Harry. "We'll see you at school, Harry. Ron and I will go find somewhere else to sit."

Ron nodded his agreement, still looking bizarrely pensive. It was out of place on Ron's features, though Harry didn't try to bring him from his thoughts. Whatever Ron was mulling over, it was probably important.

Harry moved to protest, but Hermione shook her head before he could even utter a sound. She smiled again, gave a little wave and left, Ron following right behind her. Harry sat back in his seat, stared out the window and tried not to think about how much was changing in so little time.

-!- -#-

Neville brought Harry out of his thoughts when they were half an hour from Hogsmeade station. A switching spell had Harry dressed in his uniform, though he found himself under Susan's tender mercies when the Hufflepuff had decided he needed his hair neatened. Harry had never thought about keeping his hair long, though now that he thought about it, many of the upper years kept theirs at least to their shoulders. He didn't know whether it was simply fashion or indicative of something and he didn't ask. He wouldn't be showing exactly how clueless he was. Instead, he let Susan have her way and afterwards, thanked her with an awkward kiss on the cheek.

When they pulled up at Hogsmeade station, Harry grudgingly donned his school hat (only ever warn during the beginning of term banquet) and disembarked with the others circled around him. Upon seeing what was pulling the carriages, however, he came to a screeching halt.

"What is it?" Ernie queried, barely managing to stop himself from careening into Harry's back.

"What's pulling the carriages?" Harry asked.

The two Ravenclaws and Ernie eyed him quizzically, though Susan and Neville's expressions showed dawning comprehension.

"They're thestrals, Harry," Neville informed him quietly. "They can only be seen by those who've seen death."

For a moment, Harry's mind travelled back to that night in the graveyard. Before he could dwell on it though, Neville tugged him into a waiting carriage, followed quickly in by the two Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

"I wonder who the Defence Professor will be this year," Susan mused.

"Delores Umbridge," Harry said dully, "The Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts."

Susan looked positively horrified. The other four weren't far behind her. "That hag shouldn't be _allowed_ near children!"

"What choice do we have?"

"He has a point," Neville conceded, "But afterwards…." Neville gave Harry a significant glance and Harry shrugged, unsure. Neville rolled his eyes. "When you become Lord Potter, you dolt. We could petition to have her removed from Hogwarts. Unless the Minister wants to kiss his job goodbye, he wouldn't ignore it."

"Neville, you genius," Susan exclaimed, "I could kiss you right now."

As Neville stuttered for words and turned a brilliant shade of magenta, the others laughed at his expense. He smiled good-naturedly through his embarrassment and allowed the teasing at his expense persist until they had reached the castle. They ungracefully piled out in a mess of limbs and laughs, stumbled up the stairs and entered into the castle's front hall.

Professor McGonagall stood there, dressed in a midnight blue robe and looking as austere as ever. She greeted them with an acknowledging head nod and gestured for them to enter into the Great Hall. They did as told, separating off to take their seats at their respective house tables. Harry and Neville settled down across from Ron and Hermione, quickly joined by the house Quidditch team. They acted as a buffer between him and the rest of the house, for which Harry was entirely grateful. He was in no mood to deal with curious peers and intrusive questions.

"Is that Umbridge? She looks like a real piece of work," Ron observed.

"I'll say," Neville agreed, "She's awful."

They were spared from further observations by the deputy headmistress. She strode into the Great Hall with a line of timid first years behind her. Some looked green, others pasty white. Harry didn't blame them. The sorting ceremony was an excruciating ordeal - in its own way, at least.

After the Sorting Hat's song - in which it gave a very peculiar warning - Professor McGonagall unrolled the scroll and began calling names. Ewan Abercrombie went to Ravenclaw, seating himself between Lisa Turpin and Mandy Brocklehurst. Neville turned to Harry. "He's the youngest son of Edmund Abercrombie. Edmund is the heir apparent to the Abercrombie Lordship. His father - Edward - is the current lord."

Harry nodded, unsurprised. Along with telling Harry about events during the first war, Sirius had told Harry of the status of most of the houses within the Ancient and Noble arena. As it stood, Abercrombie had the most members that were alive, sane and not in prison.

The sorting continued. Harry blanked most of it out, only applauding when those around him did. Finally, a waif of a girl named Rose Zeller was sorted into Hufflepuff. She sat herself between Ernie and Susan, apparently the only familiar faces at her table. Neville began talking again. "She's the only daughter of Christopher Zeller - the current lord of their house. She has a younger brother - Jacob - who will end up being their father's heir apparent."

Before Harry could respond, Dumbledore got to his feet and stretched his arms out, as if he wanted to hug each and every one of his students. "To those new students: welcome to Hogwarts. To those returning: welcome back. But before anything else - please - dig in."

The feast was scrumptious as always. Conversation was light, all of them determinedly avoiding the metaphorical elephants in the room. It was neither the time nor place for certain discussions to be held. They would be reserved for that evening, when they were within their tower and out of anyone's hearing.

When dessert was cleared away, Dumbledore rose to his feet. This time however, his speech wasn't so light-hearted. "As some of you may know," the headmaster began solemnly, "The Ministry of Magic has deemed it prudent that Hogwarts reinstate the Inheritance Test for its fifth year students. For those of you who do not know what this entails, it is essentially a blood test to determine whether or not there are any outstanding estates that you have first claim to. As this Inheritance Test will be taking place tomorrow, classes will begin a day later than usual. This is to allow our teachers to oversee the fifth year's testing. Any questions you may have can be answered by your heads of house. Concerning other matters, Quidditch trials will be arranged by your house captain, Mr Filch has requested I remind you that magic - along with four hundred and ninety six other items are banned in the corridors and - lastly - I would like to welcome Madam Delores Umbridge to Hogwarts School. She will be the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. Professor Umbridge, I bid you welcome and the best of luck."

Before Dumbledore could dismiss them, a high pitched "Hem, hem," had the students looking around, bewildered. Dumbledore, however, had his gaze fixed on the pink clad woman at the staff table. It took Harry a moment to realise because the woman was so short, but she'd stood up at her introduction. Evidently, she wanted to make a speech.

The general gist was that the Ministry was interfering at Hogwarts. Listening to Neville's rant about it on the way to the tower, it seemed the two of them were part of a small minority that had actually listened to the hag. No matter. Nothing could be done for the moment.

They made it to the tower and slipped inside. He was ready for bed, but first, there was another discussion to be had beforehand. His friends wanted answers. This time, he'd be ready to give them.

-!- -#-

**Author's Note:** Heh. About that promised fortnightly update schedule… yeah - I lied. Sorry. Not really.

Thanks to my better-than-Superman beta who managed to edit this in a day. I hope I addressed all your changes, though I think I missed one or two.

Anyway, I hope you readers enjoyed. I'd appreciate your thoughts. I'm shameless, I know.

Until next time

-t


	6. Chapter 5: The Inheritance Test

**The Lord and his Lady**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter universe. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Five: The Inheritance Test **

Over the years, Harry had become very close with the members of his quidditch team. The game relied on a lot of trust and therefore, a certain closeness between the players had been inevitable. With that in mind, burdening them with the horror of the events during the Triwizard Tournament's final task was something Harry didn't want to do. Ron and Hermione were enough. THey'd seen him through the last four years of school - and the extra-curricular events within. Nevertheless, they were his friends and therefore had a right to know what could happen were they to associate with him. it didn't mean he had to like it though.

In Gryffindor tower, the six team members took the boy's staircase up to the very top of the tower. The roof held a trap door with a fold away staircase. Upon unlatching the door and ascending the staircase, they found themselves on the tower top, between the balustrades and overlooking the western grounds.

Hogwarts had eight towers all up, one for the four primary compass points and one for the four secondary points of northwest, northeast, southeast and southwest. Gryffindor house occupied the west tower, Trelawney in the north with the Ravenclaws in the east. The south had once been reserved for marital suites, though since the tradition of student-age marriages had come to a close around the time of the Inheritance Test's original closure, it was primarily guest quarters. One more was the owlery, another the bell tower, the second to last being the headmaster's quarters and the last being the Astronomy tower.

"Pretty beautiful out here," Katie observed, "A lover's nook if I ever saw one."

"You would know," Fred teased, "Bet you and Eustace Crawford came here often."

"Bugger off," Katie laughed, though her cheeks had tinged pink. "I didn't even know we could access the roof."

"Strictly speaking," Alicia interrupted, "This isn't really a roof. But that's not why we're here, is it?"

"Absolutely right," Angelina concurred. She turned to Harry, her smiling expression sobering. "Are you ready to tell us now?"

"Would I be here if I wasn't?" Harry retorted as he settled down against the internal wall. Harry had guessed it had been the sides of a turret once upon a time, but he couldn't be sure. There was no longer a turret, but simply a ring of low, smoothened stone with an open space within.

She shrugged, settled against the balustrade across from him and waited expectantly.

Under her stoic gaze, Harry fidgeted. Memories threatened to break through constructed blockages and still, he hesitated. Should they really know?

Yes - they should.

So he told them, beginning with his first year and ending with the nightmarish final task. Then he continued with the events over the summer: the dementors, his trial, the blood adoption and finally, the Inheritance Test. The entire time, his team listened without interruption, their expressions ranging from pride and fear and shock and awe, horror, disgust, grief and finally, determination: a resolute determination Harry had never seen on any of them. "And that's all," he finished and exhaled deeply. With the recollection complete, he felt some of the weight on his shoulders lighten. It was certainly cathartic to talk through it all.

"Wow - just wow." Alicia, the brainiest of all of them (though that wasn't saying much considering they were each clever when they put their minds to it), "I just have no words."

"Tell me about it," Katie agreed. She looked at Harry, a soft look coming to her face. "You're amazing, do you know that? I don't know anyone else who could have handled all of that half as well as you have."

Harry shrugged, blushing. "I have great friends and lots of help."

Katie chuckled to herself, shook her head and smiled fondly at their youngest team member. "Don't ever change, Harry. You're wonderful the way you are." She stood from where she'd sat on the floor, stepped in front of Harry and wrapped him up in a fierce hug. She barely reached his shoulders, but the diminutive chaser had ridiculously strong arms. "Thank you for telling us, Harry. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'll have your back - always. Oliver too, I'm sure."

Behind her, the four others nodded their agreement, letting Katie handle the talking. She and Harry had always had a closer bond than the rest of the team - twins aside. It came with being the youngest members surrounded by a set of twins, the best friend duo of Angelina and Alicia and the much older, manic-obsessive Oliver. He hugged her back, speechless. He couldn't say just how much it meant to him to hear that.

"Thanks - all of you. That means so much."

For a while longer, the six talked of mindless topics: quidditch, school, peers and professors. Eventually, Alicia's yawning got to be too much and they retreated downstairs, headed for their dormitories.

In Harry's, he found his four other roommates unpacking their things for another year. For a moment, he stood in the doorway and took in the scene in front of him. Neville's shelves were occupied with primarily Herbology texts, though he could see a number of Defensive and Offensive spell books among the collection as well. Dean, who lived and breathed football, had figurines of famous players, his collection of Marvel and DC comics and a number of art journals on his shelves, his textbooks stacked haphazardly on the study desk beside his bed. Seamus' shelves were occupied with nicknacks from home, a number of sports and porn magazines and some quidditch figurines of teams Harry had long since forgotten the names of. Ron hadn't yet unpacked anything, having had instead sprawled out across his bed, apparently still contemplative.

It seemed his intervention was in order.

Harry crossed the room and settled down on his haunches beside Ron's bed. He raised a privacy spell around he and his best friend - a spell Sirius had taught him during their days at Grimmauld Place - and waited expectantly for Ron to begin talking. When Ron didn't, Harry sighed to himself and broke the silence between them. "What's the problem, Ron?"

Ron sat up on his bed and Harry, uncomfortable with the way they were situated, summoned a chair that he could sit on. It was Ron's desk chair, though the ginger barely batted an eye. "I realised the Order isn't doing anything. How many times did we eavesdrop on those meetings, to find nothing being done?"

Harry shrugged. His talks with Sirius had told Harry as much but he wasn't sure of what could be done to change the status quo. Dumbledore was a pacifist at heart and though Harry respected the man greatly, he wasn't meant to be a war general. But war was what they were headed for and something needed to be done. "Do you have any ideas of how to change that?"

"The Order? No. They're Dumbledore's army - not ours."

"You think we should build an army?" Harry asked, dumbfounded. He hadn't been expecting that.

"Not necessarily an army," Ron hedged, "Something like the Order - just more offensive."

"I dunno," Harry hesitated, "How would we manage it? remember, I'm persona non grata in the eyes of the Ministry right now."

"People believe you," Ron assured, "Those who don't are bloody buggers."

Harry laughed and then shrugged. "Plan it out - talk it through with Hermione - if it's doable, we can give it a go."

Ron nodded, expression determined. Harry wondered if it would actually happen. Choosing not to think about it right now, he dropped his privacy spell and approached his bed. His trunk, a polished mahogany with golden fastenings and a matching nameplate was a bit too ostentatious for his taste, but Sirius (via Remus) had been insistent that Harry get the best of the best of everything available. Suffice to say, it had been (and still was) a learning curve for the boy who'd grown up with nothing to his name until the age of eleven.

He opened his trunk and examined it's contents. Kreecher, who despite not liking Harry, had taken to cleaning up after him. Therefore, he really shouldn't have been surprised by the fact that sometime between his shower and leaving headquarters that morning, the decrepit elf had reorganised his belongings.

Shrugging, he gathered his textbooks and everything not clothing, dumped them haphazardly on his desk and decided they could wait to be sorted for another day.

After briefly catching up with Dean and Seamus, he called it a night and climbed into bed. Around him, the dorm settled as the others followed his lead, apparently not interested in catching up for the moment.

The next morning, Harry woke to Hermione with her wand raised and an aguamenti spell on the tip of her tongue. When she noted he was awake though, she dropped her arm and gestured for him to hurry up. "Breakfast starts in fifteen minutes."

Cursing under his breath, Harry grabbed up his uniform and headed for the bathroom. After washing, brushing, flushing and most recently, shaving, Harry returned to his dorm room to find Hermione settled in his desk chair, idly flipping through one of his government texts. Harry deposited his pyjamas in his trunk, woke Ron with a slap to the forehead and turned to his best female friend. "Any reason why you're sticking around?"

"Lavender and Parvati won't shut up about you and Neville," Hermione replied with an annoyed roll of her eyes. "I got tired of hearing it."

Harry chuckled to himself, slightly abashed, though mostly amused. Lavender and Parvati were funny, if not annoying. It was also flattering to know they'd noticed his changes - though embarrassing as well. Mentally, he made a note to avoid the ditzy duo before they could sink their claws into him. Quickly though, his attention was diverted by Ron stumbling back into the dorm room.

"Ready to go?" The ginger queried, though he still looked like he was half asleep.

Hermione set down Harry's book and joined the two in the middle of the room. She looked between them, nodded to herself and led the way down the dorm stairs, regardless of the fact that she'd probably see more of the junior boys than she'd ever wanted to. Harry could perfectly remember his years in the junior dorms.

As they passed the second year dorms, a glimpse inside showed one of the boys clad in only a towel and circling a pair of boxers around his index finger, dancing in the middle of the room while his dorm mates egged him on. Harry was horrified to note that it was Dennis Creevy. Hermione was just horrified.

Ron laughed, shut the door and continued downstairs, Harry and Hermione trailing behind him. In the common room, they found Neville and the other fifth years - some looking more anxious than others. Neville's skin tone had taken an odd greenish-grey tinge and Harry noted it didn't look at all healthy, though he honestly sympathised.

Today would be the day his life would be irrevocably altered, though he really should have been used to such drastic changes by now. Nevertheless, he wasn't at all ready for his emancipation, regardless of the benefits it provided.

"We ready to go?" Ron asked, a tone of faux cheer in his voice that didn't at all effect anyone. In fact, it looked as if Neville had just gone a bit greener.

"Sure," Lavender replied with a careless shrug. Harry honestly envied her for not having anything to worry about.

They each filed out through the portrait hole and began the trek to the Great Hall. It seemed to Harry they were each going slower than usual, but he couldn't be too sure. It might have just been he and Neville with the others slowing down to not lose them, but he spared very little thought concerning the matter. Eventually though, they reached the Great Hall and settled down at the end of the Gryffindor table farthest from the staff. Most everyone dug into their breakfast with vigour, though Harry only settled for some toast and tea. He didn't think he'd be able to handle anything heavier. Across from him, he noted Neville doing the same.

Around the time the heads of house would usually begin handing out timetables, the headmaster stood from his seat and clinked his spoon against a glass. The sound must have been magically amplified because it rang around the Great Hall, silencing all of its occupants as they each turned their heads to the staff table. Dumbledore cleared his throat and began to talk. "In lieu of recent events, the Board of Governors and our head staff have deemed it prudent to enact some long overdue changes to the Hogwarts curriculum. You will find that along with your timetable, you will be given a pamphlet providing you with all the information required for your additional classes. If you have any further questions, you may find answers with your head of house. On a side note, can all fifth years please remain after breakfast? Thank you." Dumbledore sat back down and gradually, conversation returned to it's usual volume.

When the timetables were handed out, Harry reluctantly accepted the new additions to his schedule. There was a new class each day between three and five o'clock in the afternoon: Business and Estate Management, Economics, Government and Politics, Legal Studies with Rhetoric and Etiquette finishing off the week every Friday. Though he didn't appreciate the addition to his workload, he wasn't dense enough to miss the value those classes held. As such, he didn't complain and instead pocketed his schedule to pin onto his desk at a later opportunity.

"Interesting classes," Dean commented, "Wonder why they were abolished to begin with?"

"Hogwarts: A History states that there have been a large number of classes removed and returned to the Hogwarts curriculum during it's tenure as an educational institute." Naturally, the comment came from Hermione. "Did you know Hogwarts taught Welsh, Gaelic and Latin until 1901? There could be a number of reasons for their abolishment though: lack of numbers, lack of staff, lack of funding…" Hermione trailed off with a shrug and returned to her breakfast. After a moment, those around her quickly followed suit.

When the breakfast plates had been cleared away and all of those students not in fifth year had exited the Great Hall, the fifth years each turned expectant gazes upon the staff table. Only the head faculty remained: Headmaster Dumbledore and the four heads of houses: Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, Snape and Sprout. Dumbledore looked like nothing in the world could phase him, Sprout and Flitwick looked weary. Snape had closed himself away behind his angry exterior and Professor McGonagall's stern, no-nonsense mask was in place, unhindered despite the fatigue Harry was sure lingered in those greenish-yellow eyes.

"I am sure you as a cohort are currently a myriad of emotions this morning," Dumbledore began. "Some of you know what you will be receiving from today's Inheritance Test. For others, it will remain a complete mystery until the results come in. Regardless of what your case may be; regardless of what your results will show, we as a school," Dumbledore gestured grandly with his arms, as if wishing to encompass the school in it's entirety, "shall be here to support you in your future endeavours." He smiled down at the fifth years in front of him. Harry thought he could see a trace of sadness in the man's expression, though if he had, it was only a fleeting glance. "But until then, you must know today's schedule, no?" Dumbledore nodded to himself and turned to his deputy. "Professor McGonagall, would you be so kind as to enlighten our students as to today's proceedings?"

The Scotswoman nodded and fluidly rose from her seat. Once she had cleared her throat and amplified her voice, she began to speak. "At nine o'clock, Hogwarts will be host to ten goblins from Gringott's Bank's Inheritance Department. They will be given an hour to prepare the Great Hall to their liking. At thirty minutes past the hour, each and every one of you fifth years will be expected in the Entrance Hall - attendance is mandatory. Absences or delays are inexcusable. At ten o'clock, students will begin testing - ten at a time by alphabetical order. I am told each test should take no more than twenty minutes. Therefore, this should take up to two hours - allowing for transition time, of course. If any student requires a visit to Gringott's bank, please meet me in my classroom at one o'clock. I shall accompany you to Diagon Alley and back. Are there any questions?"

With apparently no one having any questions to ask, they were each dismissed with an hour to kill until they were expected back in the Entrance Hall. With nothing better to do, the ten Gryffindors claimed a corner of the Entrance Hall and wiled away the time talking about inconsequential things. Harry and Neville were both understandably quiet and so their housemates let them be with only the intermittent glance of concern or sympathy sent their way. They were there to witness the ten goblins enter the castle escorted by Hagrid and greeted by Dumbledore, though the Great Hall doors were quickly sealed shut behind their entrance into the dining area. Shortly thereafter, the Ravenclaws arrived from their tower, the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins from their respective stairways.

At exactly half past nine, Professor McGonagall opened the Great Hall doors and shut them behind her. She gestured for them each to stand and when they had, she instructed, "Please get into single file in alphabetical order, beginning with the A's and ending with Mr Zabini."

The fifth years did just that, Harry ending up behind Sally-Anne perks and in front of Holly Roper. For a fleeting moment, he remembered another time like this, awash with nerves and unquenchable anxieties. Back then, the sorting ceremony had been such a daunting prospect, he'd been nearly sick with fear. In hindsight, it all seemed so trivial. Maybe it was because he was older; had experienced more things, but either way, things like the sorting ceremony was a blip on his radar as opposed to the life-altering experience he'd once perceived it as. For another moment, he longed to go back to a time where sorting ceremonies were the most important thing in his life, but the feeling didn't linger. Though he looked back on those days fondly, he no longer wished to be so ignorant to the world around him. He had bigger issues - bigger priorities - to deal with.

"Nervous?" Holly queried from over his shoulder.

"Need you ask?" Harry responded dryly, tilting his head backwards to give the impression he was listening to her. He really was, though simply didn't feel like turning around to face her. Holly was a nice girl, though he'd never been close with her. As much a quidditch nut as Ron, her hair was black and pulled into a perpetual braid, her eyes were brown and she had a small scar next to her eye - a result of a bludger incident when she was eight years old.

Holly hummed her acknowledgement and drummed her fingers along the uncovered skin at the nape of his neck. "I imagine you would be. You've got some big shoes to fill, you know. I hear your father, grandfather and great-grandfather were quite the politicians."

"Ode to joy," Harry muttered sardonically. "Just what I always wanted - more buggering expectations."

"Naturally," Holly agreed. She'd been one of the fair few to not fawn over him during the beginning of their first year. With a professional quidditch player as a father, she had probably been witness to the drawbacks of fame for a long time."Do you know what your test will show?"

"More or less," Holly replied, "There's always room for surprises though. Who knows? I might just be the long lost princess."

Harry hummed his acknowledgement. Neither feeling the need to continue the conversation, they instead stood silently - waiting for their head of house to return.

At ten o'clock, McGonagall made another return to the Entrance Hall, a scroll in hand. "The following students shall be tested first: Abbott, Bones, Boot, Brocklehurst, Brown, Bulstrode, Corner, Cornfoot, Crabbe and Davis. Follow me."

Twenty minutes later, the ten students exited the Great Hall with mcGonagall on their tail. SHe unfurled her scroll and called, "Dunbar, Entwhistle, Faucet, Finch-Fletchley, Finnigan, Goldstein, Goyle, Granger, Greengrass and Hopkins. You're next."

Hermione turned as she walked and for a moment, she caught his gaze with her own. He attempted an encouraging smile, though was unsure as to whether or not he succeeded.

When McGonagall returned again, she called, "Jones, Lee, Longbottom, Malfoy, McDougal, McMillan, Midgen, Nott, Parkinson and Padma Pattyl.""

Neville was visibly trembling. When he glanced over his shoulder at the ten remaining students, his skin had acquired that peculiar greenish-grey tinge once more. Again, Harry attempted an encouraging smile. Again, he doubted he managed to pull it off.

The next twenty minutes dragged on. In front of him, Sally-Anne twiddled with her thumbs, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet. Behind him, Holly had acquired a nail file and was aimlessly dragging it across her nails, the sound grating in the silent hall. Finally though, the Great Hall doors opened and out strode the ten students before them. Neville looked sickly, though Harry didn't at all blame him. The easy part was over. The worst was yet to begin. Malfoy wore an expressionless mask. For a moment, he wondered when the Slytherin had learnt to pull it off, but his attention was quickly diverted by Professor McGonagall.

"Parvati Pattyl, Perks, Potter, Roper, Smith, Thomas, Turpin, Weasley and Zabini."

Harry hesitated for a moment. Holly wasn't having any of that though and pushed him forward. He staggered a step, righted himself and continued forward past his head of house and through the Great Hall doors. Gone were the house tables, in their place a single row of desks divided by wooden slabs that passed as dividing walls. At each desk sat a goblin while parallel there waited an empty chair - presumably for the students. Harry settled down at the third cubicle he came to, directly in front of a goblin who's beard had somehow acquired a golden ring. Rather than study it though, he instead nodded cordially to the goblin.

"Name," the goblin barked.

"Harrison Potter," Harry replied, resisting the urge to wince at the use of his birth name. It was used very rarely, Harry being what he had been called for as long as he could remember. As such, it was somewhat unfamiliar coming from him.

The goblin nodded and scrawled Harry's name on a roll of parchment. Following that, he slid over what Harry recognised to be a ritual bowl and knife. It had been something covered by Sirius over the summer holidays. "Cut your palm and let your blood drop into the bowl. I'll inform you when enough blood has been collected."

Harry did as he was told, cutting the blade into his palm. At once, blood pooled in his cupped hand so he let it fall into the rune-etched bowl. After a minute in which blood methodically dripped from his hand, the goblin waved a gnarled hand over Harry's, sealing the cut immediately. More hand waves followed, accompanied by a series of guttural incanting. Slowly, Harry watched scarlet coloured letters appear on the blank roll of parchment, all the while the blood in the ritual bowl drained away. When the bowl was empty and the scroll was full of crimson writing, the incanting stopped and the waving ceased. Without adieu, the goblin turned the scroll around so it faced Harry. Beneath the Gringott's letterhead, was the following:

_Inheritance Test No. 429534_

_Recipient: Name: Potter, Harrison James _

_Date of Birth: 31st July, 1980 Age: 15 Years, 1 Month, 2 Days_

_Results:_

_Primary:_

_Heir to: the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter _

_Wizengamot Status: Vacant_

_Family Account Status: Frozen _

_Secondary:_

_Heir to: the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black _

_Wizengamot Status: Vacant, held proxy by the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy _

_Family Account Status: Sealed _

Harry was brought out of his inspection by the goblin. "As per the Ministry of Magic's mandate, any heir of the Ancient and Most Noble houses who's Wizengamot seats are currently empty are required to claim their Lordship."

Harry gave an acknowledging nod. He'd been told as much by the headmaster. It had been the reason why he was dreading this test so much.

The goblin continued. "In order to claim your family's Lordship, you will be required to pay a visit to your family vaults. That is all."

Harry nodded his understanding and thanked the goblin for his time. He got to his feet and looked around. Everyone else had finished already and were waiting by the door. He joined them, the weight on his shoulders feeling significantly heavier. No doubt, it would be even more so when he actually claimed his family title. He wasn't looking forward to it.

-!- -#-

**Author's Note:** First things first, sorry for the chapter six screw up. The story goes that I posted it without sending it to my beta, my beta was awesome despite my hiatus from the HP fandom and decided to beta the chapter anyway so I took it down before anyone could actually read it. My beta worked his magic, but we're currently experiencing some technical difficulties so I'm not sure how much of his changes have actually stayed changed. Now here we are. Not sure how pleased he'll be with me posting it while the beta-status of this chapter is questionable, but what can I say? I'm impatient.

Second thing second: sorry for the long wait for an update. I guess you could say I needed a break from the Harry Potter fandom. Now here I am. I've also decided I'll be updating monthly. That's easy. Maybe more if I'm on a role.

Now that's out of the way… you know you've read too many manipulative Dumbledore stories when you go on a Dumbledore-hating rant in a review on someone's story because he's not perfect. Now really, I get that there will be characters people don't like and what not but honestly, that review was a bit over the top.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Again, sorry for the wait. Rest assured, I intend to finish the story - no matter how long it takes.

Until next time

-t


	7. Chapter Six: The Contract

**The Lord and his Lady **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter universe. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Six: The Contract **

At five to one, Harry met Neville in the Entrance Hall. They said no words, instead stood in silence and waited. They were joined shortly by Dean Thomas, Sally-Anne Perks and Morag McDougall. Dean paced back and forth, no doubt anxious about what he'd find at the bank. Harry would be too, if he'd just found out the father he had never known was actually dead and had left him quite the pretty penny. Apparently, Dean's father was a famous wizarding painter killed in the last war targeted due to his association with Muggles. No surprise there, considering the times. At least the artistic Gryffindor now knew where he got his talent from.

McGonagall arrived at exactly one o'clock. She scrutinised each of them, nodded to herself and withdrew a black metal disc from her pocket. Where he stood, he could see the engraved detailing of the Hogwarts Coat of Arms, circled by the school's motto. "Take hold," she instructed, "And try to brace yourself for the landing."

They each did so, Harry considerably more reluctant than the rest. Regardless of his misgivings though, he took hold of the disc with his thumb and index finger, closed his eyes and tried not to remember another Portkey ride away from Hogwarts.

Harry landed heavily and stumbled forward, to be steadied by McGonagall's bracing hand. Feeling uncomfortable, he muttered his thanks and looked around. They had arrived behind the Leaky Cauldron, with only the grey sky overhead as their witness.

"That was bloody awful," Dean muttered to Harry as McGonagall moved to open up the passage into Diagon Alley. "You'd think they'd make transport more comfortable."

"Wait until you try apparition," Harry replied, "It is worse." He turned to the portal that had just opened up in front of him. Diagon Alley looked very much the same as it had during the summer and still, Harry found he would probably need a set of eyes at the back of his head to truly see everything. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if the novelty of this place would ever wear off, but his attention was quickly grabbed by the retreating form of Professor McGonagall and her straggling students. Harry caught up easily, for once grateful for his now longer stride and 'Harry Hunting' days.

As they approached Gringotts, Harry subconsciously slowed his steps, dreading what was to come next. Neville stood beside Harry, eyeing the marble structure with just as much trepidation. Nonetheless, their steps finally took them in through the three doorways and into the bank's gargantuan lobby.

"Neville," Harry began, "What am I supposed to say to the goblins?"

Neville glanced at Harry from the corner of his eyes. "Just tell them you're here to claim your inheritance. They'll do the rest."

True to Neville's word, the goblins did just that, leading Harry and Neville into a cart separate from the rest of their party. When Harry asked Neville as to why this was the case, Harry was informed that only members of the ancient houses were permitted near the ancient vaults.

After a considerably longer cart ride than Harry was used to, the track came to an end in a gargantuan, circular cavern. It was illuminated by twenty-four pinpricks of light - candles beside what were obviously vault doors. On each of them, family crests had been intricately carved into the stone. Harry had never actually seen his family crest, but the description by Sirius made it easy for Harry to find it easily. He stood in front of the vault, simply taking in the moment - at least until their goblin escort cleared his throat.

Harry startled and turned slightly, seeing Neville had done the same slightly a ways down. They both grinned sheepishly and turned back to their escort. Harry asked, "So, how do I open the vault?"

The goblin - looking extraordinarily put upon - replied, "A hand to the crest will suffice. That is - of course - if you are whom you say you are. Otherwise, you will be sucked into the vault with no way out."

Harry winced to himself as he turned back to face the vault door, wondering if anyone was actually gutsy (or stupid) enough to try and break in. Warily, he pressed his palm to the coat of arms, unsure of what to expect. Whatever it had been, it wasn't the warmth that shot up his arm and through his entire being, calming him at once; only for the vault door to melt away. He certainly wasn't expecting what was within.

"How… anti-climactic," he commented. The door entered into a room with four walls and just as many doors. In the centre of the small room, there was an ornate oak table. Above it, there was a coloured tapestry depicting the family crest, illuminated in an orange glow cast by the everlasting candlelight.

On the table, there were two books, a jewellery box, a metal tipped quill and a bowl full of a shimmering liquid that might have passed for water. He approached curiously, stopping just before he could hit the table. He glanced down at the open book, finding a list of names and dates - the last of which read: _James Charlus Potter - August 7th, 1980 - October 31st, 1981._ He realised then, that it was a book of records: a list of the Potter lords and the dates of their tenure.

With shaking hands, he reached for the quill (a blood quill, if Sirius' description was anything to go by) and scrawled his name beneath his father's. He wrote the date next and dropped the quill to the table. Blindly, he reached for the jewellery box and opened it with shaking hands, unsurprised to find the Head of House ring nestled within. Sirius had told him what to expect, after all. The ring though - it was something else. The band was thick, made of gold and engraved with the family's motto: _pro officium_. The centre was a square cut ruby with spidery veins of gold within. A magical stone then - a red dragon's eye, if Hermione was anything to go by. It felt heavy in his hand - heavier than something so small had any right to be. He didn't want to put it on, but there was no one else to take his place. Therefore, he slid it onto his right index finger (Sirius' instruction) and almost fell to his knees from the surge of magic flooding his entire being. He somehow managed to hold steady though, inhaling deeply. He was strangely breathless, his heart pounding against his ribcage and adrenaline pumping. Through all of that, he was intensely aware of the magic radiating from the ring on his finger. Through the bond formed (however that may be), he could feel its almost-sentience. It wanted to tell him something, but until he became the Lord of House Black, he couldn't relax to listen; let alone attempt to understand. The magic was comforting though; warm and joyous and familiar in a way that Hogwarts wasn't. The ring was imbued with his family magic - something Hogwarts couldn't boast. He sighed contentedly, but quickly resolved himself: there was yet more to be done.

After collecting the second book on the table, Harry exited the vault and watched the stone materialise in the entrance way. When it was back in place, he turned to the goblin eyeing him with something akin to curiosity. Harry took note of the gleaming silver throwing star between the goblin's bony fingers and silently prayed that he'd be coming out of these tunnels alive and in one piece. The Longbottom vault was still open, so Harry assumed his friend was exploring his inheritance. Harry told himself that he'd do the same later. First, "On the test I took this morning, it named me the heir to the Black estate, despite the fact that it's my secondary inheritance. Is there a procedure I have to take in order for me to be able to claim the Lordship?"

The goblin's grudging attention had turned calculating, probably realising just how much money Harry had access to. He winced simply at the thought, unsure if he really wanted to know actual figures. Now wasn't the time though.

"The very same procedure taken with your Potter inheritance," the goblin replied tersely, "Of course," it added with a self-satisfied smile. "If you are not the heir, then you can say your goodbyes now. The Blacks' personal protections were always more vicious than the rest."

"How bloody pleasant," The newly minted Lord Potter muttered, approaching the crest he'd seen earlier. Vaguely, he thought he heard the goblin chortle behind him, but his attention was already on the vault in front of him. With considerably more trepidation than the first time around, he pressed his palm to the carved coat of arms, shivering with the magic coursing up his arm. Fortunately though, he wasn't sucked in (or anything worse) and the vault door fell away, revealing a similar setup to his Potter vault: A room with four walls and four doors, a table (ebony, naturally), two books, a blood quill, a jewellery box and a bowl with that same substance within. He glanced down at the list of Black Lords curiously. The last read: _Sirius Orion Black: 14th August, 1977 - 1st November, 1981._ Sirius had been head of his house for four years. Now Harry was taking his godfather (father's now, he supposed) place. He was reluctant to do so, but also had no choice. If he refused, then Draco Malfoy was eligible to claim it. Naturally, Harry - and all of his friends - was vehemently opposed to that possibility. Thus, why, after another moment's hesitation, he scrawled his name under Sirius'.

The ring was a platinum band with a circular cut emerald as the focal point. The silver veins within told of another magical stone bracketed by the two (very realistic) mouths of a pair of serpents. The band itself was engraved with the body and for a moment, he was truly impressed with the detailing.

Then he put it on.

He wasn't so impressed then.

Where the Potter family magic had been warm and welcoming, the Black family's was cold and unkind. He got the impression the magic was examining - judging - him. He didn't like the feeling in the slightest. Regardless, the magic seemed to have found him worthy and settled down, a serpentine chokehold around his neck. He wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't been born a Black or because the magic could sense the Muggle in him, but whatever it was, the surge of magic he'd felt with his claim was a complete parallel to the magic from that of the Potter family. He didn't like it, but there was nothing to be done.

With that in mind, he retrieved the second book on the table, pocketed it with the Potter equivalent and returned to the external cavern. The goblin was still there, spinning the throwing star between his fingers and looking entirely too relaxed doing so for Harry's comfort. He looked around, seeing Neville was still in the vault. A glance at his watch told Harry that they had best return to the surface and so hesitantly, Harry approached the Longbottom vault. He stopped before the doorway and peered in and saw only a black emptiness beyond. Assuming it was one of the bank's security features, Harry called to his friend within. "Neville, we have to go before McGonagall starts a search party." Neville appeared only moments later, wide eyed and wearing his Head of House ring. It was silver, a blue sapphire glinting in the glow of the candlelight. There was something within the stone itself, but Harry paid it no heed. Instead, he lifted himself into the cart and Neville quickly followed suit.

In the lobby, they tipped their guide and sought out their party, finding them in an out-of-the-way corner. They each were filing through leather bound books while McGonagall kept a look out for - presumably - Harry and Neville. They approached quickly, receiving a tight lipped smile from McGonagall when they had.

"Did all go well?" She queried, examining both of them. She took stock of the rings they now wore, but didn't comment. Instead, she nodded her acknowledgement of Harry and Neville's confirming responses and turned to gather everyone else's attention. As she opened her mouth to speak however, she caught sight of something that made her freeze in her tracks.

Harry and Neville turned warily and relaxed when it was only goblins they saw. Three particularly aged looking bankers, all without weaponry in sight. Of course, Harry had no doubt they were each armed. That was a no brainer. It was just a relief not to see the many different ways he could die at their ridiculously long-fingered hands.

"Lord Potter and Lord Longbottom," the central goblin began, "My name is Steeljaw. Beside me are my colleagues, Goldclaw and Sharptooth. We are each the managers of your respective estates. We were each pleased to hear you had claimed your inheritances."

"The pleasure's ours," Harry replied, idly wondering if he'd ever mean it. "Did you wish to meet us?"

"Not initially," Goldclaw admitted, "We had intended to contact you in a week's time. However, an unforeseen circumstance has arisen with the both of you. They must be addressed post haste."

Harry and Neville shared a glance and turned to their head of house. McGonagall smiled encouragingly - a rare sight for her students. "As adults, you are permitted to come and go from the castle as you wish - within reason and with the consent of your head of house. Consider this your permission, but please be sure to return to school as soon as possible."

The two young lords nodded and were led away by the goblins. It wasn't until Harry and Neville turned a corner away from the lobby that the feeling of McGonagall's eyes on their backs fell away. They found themselves in a long, wide hallway with a skylight running the length of the ceiling and a gold coloured runner along the white marble floor. Two dozen doors were evenly spaced out along the corridor (twelve to each side), with another door at the end - looking more ornate than the rest. It went without saying that the two dozen other doors were particularly elaborate.

They were led down the hallway, though Sharptooth and Neville veered off sooner than Harry would have liked. Regardless, he continued following his account managers into an ornate office with hand carved furniture and a priceless rug. What was out of place was the number of weapons along the walls, though Harry tried to ignore that. Instead, he settled down in the seat Goldclaw offered and watched the two goblins settle down in their own chairs. It was apparent this was Goldclaw's office but both goblins seemed comfortable regardless.

"To begin," Goldclaw started, "I should inform you that I am the estate manager for the house of Potter. Steeljaw has the same responsibilities for the house of Black.""

Harry nodded slowly and asked, "What does that entail?"

"Financial management primarily," Goldclaw responded, "Also legal issues - if it is required. That particular aspect includes contracts."

"Contracts?" Harry repeated, reminded of his first conversation with Sirius concerning the heritage he hadn't known he had. Sirius had mentioned the possibility of marriage contracts but brushed it aside. With everything else that had to be covered in the short time between that conversation and the return to Hogwarts, the issue hadn't been brought up again.

Goldclaw nodded. "When families decide to create a marriage contract with other families, they enlist the aid of Gringotts as mediators. We are also in charge of ensuring everything is legal, our clients are satisfied and the contract is protected."

"Okay," Harry acknowledged, mulling over what had been said. "I understand now. So what is the issue you needed to speak with me about?"

"It has come to my attention that my predecessor, Stonehook mediated over the arrangements of a marriage contract between the houses of Potter and Brocklehurst. Because our files," the goblin gestured between himself and Steeljaw, "were sealed, we were only able to learn of this moments ago. A missive has already been sent to the current Lord Brocklehurst and his estate manager that the contract has been activated. Do you wish to see the file?"

"I'll look over it later," Harry said, unsure if he would be able to hold anything steady enough to read with the way his hands were shaking. "May I ask though - who made the arrangements?"

"I believe it was the last action Lord Charlus Potter made before his death. The signatures were dated the 5th of August, 1980. I also believe the patriarch of house Brocklehurst had been Lord Alexander Brocklehurst at the time."

Harry nodded absently and mechanically reached out a hand for the contract the goblin was offering him. Magic thrummed beneath his fingertips at the touch. A distant part of his mind noted it was a magical contract, but spared very little thought on the matter. Instead, he shrunk down the file and slipped it into the pocket with the two family grimoires and looked expectantly between the two goblins. "Was there anything else that needed to be covered today?"

Both shook their heads. Steeljaw spoke. "I will escort you out, Lord Black."

After Harry bid farewell to Goldclaw, he followed Steeljaw into the lobby. There, he found a pale faced Neville squeezing the life out of what looked remarkably like the small booklet (the contract) that was burning a hole through Harry's own pocket. "You too, huh?" Harry gave his friend a sympathetic smile. "Who's the girl?"

"Lisa Turpin," Neville replied.

Harry gave a slight wince. It wasn't that he didn't like the girl - really. She was just very intimidating. There was a reason why he didn't talk to her very often. "Scary."

Neville gave a sardonic smile at that. "Have you met my grandmother?"

Harry grinned and gave a slight chuckle. Augusta Longbottom - he'd met her after his joke of a trial - was an extraordinarily imposing woman. "Touché. I suppose you'll be able to handle Lisa just fine."

"Here's hoping. So, how about you? Who is she?"

"Mandy Brocklehurst, I presume. I don't know. I just know it's with her house."

"You'll need to owl her father," Neville replied, "He'll be expecting a message from you. It can be no one else - she has no sisters and her family is the only branch left. They were hit pretty hard in the war." Sardonically, Harry thought that such a comment came as no surprise. It seemed everyone had been affected by the war in one way or another. Harry and Neville were certainly no exceptions.

"She seemed pretty sheltered on the train," Harry commented. They were leaving the bank now. Overhead, the sun had begun its descent to the west.

Neville shrugged. "There's a difference between knowing and experiencing. She knows what happened - I think she's just scared to realise she'll be living through it now."

"What about you?" Harry eyed his friend's stiffening posture, the hardening of his eyes.

"My gran always told me the war wasn't over. I've been waiting for the day I can avenge my family." When the budding herbologist looked at Harry, The Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team didn't think he'd ever seen his friend so resolute. "The house of Longbottom will be avenged. I'll make sure of it."

Harry nodded silently. With Neville as determined as he was, Harry had no doubt that it would happen. He just hoped that Neville wouldn't live to regret his decision.

They walked on in silence and reached the Leaky Cauldron only moments later. Inside, they paid for use of Tom's Floo powder and departed from the pub. They reappeared in the Three Broomsticks and hurried up towards the castle. Inside, they made their way up to Gryffindor tower and settled down in their dormitory. Dean was already there, flipping through his ledger. Ron was as well, hunched over his desk and writing out what Harry guessed was a letter. Seamus was nowhere in sight. Rather than enquire about his absence though, he instead withdrew the two grimoires and one contract from his pocket and returned them to their natural size. He slid the two grimoires into a secret compartment of his trunk and settled on his bed. His focus then turned to the contract he held in shaking hands. He wondered if he could actually work up the nerve to read through it. No doubt, it consisted of a whole lot of legal jargon he wouldn't be able to make sense of, but it was probably something he would have to read through anyway.

"It won't open itself." Ron's dry voice broke Harry from his internalising. He glanced up and attempted a smile. He was sure it came out more as a grimace than anything but couldn't muster up the energy to feel guilty. "That bad, huh?"

Harry shrugged, unsure of what to say. Instead of finding a reasonable response, he diverted Ron's attention. "Did you talk to Hermione?"

Ron nodded. "She made me realise that we're not currently in a war. Everything is still - what did she call it? – "Cloak and Dagger", I think is what she said. She agrees that people need to be taught how to fight and defend themselves though. After that, she went off to research her family's history." He paused, hesitating slightly. "I think she plans on contacting her uncle."

In the Inheritance Test, Hermione had learnt her father was a squib from a minor pureblood house. It had been a surprise to her, though she'd admitted she was glad that there wasn't an actual inheritance waiting to be claimed by her. According to his cleverest friend, she didn't think she'd be able to handle blood money from a family that disowned her father for having no magic.

"It's her choice, I guess. If I found out I had family I didn't know about, I think I would like to meet them. Then again…" he trailed off with a shrug. Ron needed no explanation from Harry. A family was what Harry had always wanted. He doubted that would ever change.

Ron nodded his understanding. "Your circumstances are different." Ron turned his attention to the contract in Harry's lap. "You'd better write that letter soon."

Harry blanched and turned to Neville's area of the dorm room. The most timid of the Gryffindor boys was already penning a letter - presumably to the Turpin family patriarch. He sighed, nodded his agreement and moved over to his desk. He brought out some of the fancy parchment bought during the summer, a quill and an inkwell. As he moved to write, however, he hesitated. He had no idea what to say. His knowledge of pureblood etiquette was rudimentary at best and non-existent at worst. With his luck, he'd end up insulting the Lord Brocklehurst without even trying.

"Something wrong?" Ron queried, attempting to wrestle a bow around one of Pig's talons. Evidently, his letter couldn't wait.

"No." He rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself. His pride would do some serious damage one day. Sighing, he amended his response. "Yes. I don't know what to say."

Neville, who had apparently finished his own letter, appeared seemingly out of thin air right beside Harry. The raven haired boy startled, but collected himself quickly. "Bloody hell! Some warning would be nice."

Neville smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Can I help with the letter?"

"I'd appreciate it," Harry admitted sheepishly. It was hard to be reminded that he hadn't been raised in the ways demanded by his heritage. For the same reason though, he had to admit to needing all the help he could get. He was way out of his element, floundering in a sea of unwelcome expectations and daunting decisions. He wondered how long it would take for him to learn all that he needed to.

Harry wrote the letter with Neville's guidance, glad to know Neville was raised the same way Harry would have been, had he been raised in the magical world. In another life, Neville and Harry would have been raised as good as brothers, though the opportunity for that life had passed and now they were here, fifteen years old and with a world of responsibilities waiting for them. For now, Harry simply focused on the letter to Lord Brocklehurst.

Afterwards, the duo departed for the owlery. They walked in silence, broken only in the privacy of the roost. It had been a name given to the tower long ago and had since stuck, used more in conjunction with the owlery as a meeting place as opposed to its actual use.

"Lord Brocklehurst will request a meeting with you to discuss the contract. It's his responsibility to tell Mandy about the contract, though it's expected that you would approach her - if not to get to know her - than at least to let her know about what's going on."

Harry grunted. His fingers were gentle though, stroking Hedwig's feathers. The letter was already tied to Hedwig's talon by a piece of twine, though he was reluctant to let her go. Contacting Lord Brocklehurst made it seem all the more real. A part of him - the terrified, immature part of himself - didn't want to face that. Not right now. Not ever, if he had his way. Unfortunately, getting his way wasn't happening and sending Hedwig off was a priority. Therefore, he carried her to the open window and launched her outside. He watched her ride the wind until she was simply a speck in the sky. Then he turned and saw Neville fiddling with his fingers in the doorway.

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, rolling his shoulders. The weight resting there seemed considerably heavier than it had been that morning. Adding to the responsibility of Voldemort, the familial expectations threatened to pull him into an abyss he wasn't sure he could come out of. Harry was pretty sure no fifteen year old was supposed to have such important responsibilities hanging over them. It made him wonder why he was the exception.

Rather than go to Gryffindor tower, they instead made their way to the Great Hall to receive some dinner. Given that it wasn't a formal meal, students came and went as they pleased between six and nine o'clock. Harry and Neville were earlier than most, with only eager first years and a couple of seventh years present. They ate in silence and departed, headed for the comfort of Gryffindor tower and the dormitory within.

In Gryffindor tower, Ron was just exiting behind their head of house. The three fifth years looked between each other, Harry and Neville questioning and Ron pale. None of them had the chance to speak however, for before they could, McGonagall had led Ron away with a fleeting glance over her shoulder to acknowledge Harry's and Neville's presence.

"Wonder what that was about?" Neville mused. Being escorted from Gryffindor tower by McGonagall wasn't common, so seeing Ron led away was somewhat worrisome.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe Hermione might know - or Ginny?"

Both shrugged and entered the common room. While Neville sought out Ginny, Harry searched for Hermione. He found her tucked away in a candlelit corner, history book in hand, though closed. He sat noisily beside her and queried, "How are you?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" She retorted. Her cinnamon eyes were shrewd as she watched him and he fidgeted, anxious under her gaze. She'd always been able to read him.

He shrugged. "I've been better, I guess. I was asking about you though."

She shrugged as well. "I don't know. I've sent an owl to my parents. I've asked dad about what he wants me to do. The ball is in his court now."

Harry nodded his acknowledgement and changed the subject. "What's up with Ron? What'd McGonagall want with him?"

"She said he had a visitor waiting for him in her office. He believes that it's Charlie. He's nervous."

Harry grunted but didn't comment. Instead, he leant back in his chair, stretched his arm over his eyes and tried to relax. He failed spectacularly, of course. His mind was awash with concerns: Voldemort, the Ministry, the Brocklehursts...

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione inquired a few minutes later. Harry assumed she'd gotten sick of pretending to read. It was hard to focus on anything after today's events.

"Not really," he admitted, "To be honest, I kind of just want to forget about it. For now, at least,"

She nodded and for once, she didn't pester. He supposed she understood the magnitude of the things he'd had to do today. He was grateful.

When Ron returned, there was an angry flush to his features. Normally, when Ron was angry, he'd rant and rave and they'd listen, waiting for the fury to leave his system. This time though, Ron was silent, glaring at anyone unfortunate enough to catch his gaze. Lucky for most of them, years in Gryffindor ensured they were familiar enough with the Weasley temper to avert their gazes quickly and pretend not to notice the storm pass them by.

Ron stormed up the dormitory staircase and Harry and Hermione watched him go, utterly bewildered.

The Boy Who Lived turned to his friend. "I guess it didn't go well."

"I guess not," Hermione agreed. "We should probably go check if he's okay."

Harry got to his feet and exhaled heavily. "I'll do it. Just… stay here. Relax."

She hesitated - he could read it on her face. On one hand, she was worried about her friend. On the other, she'd had enough bombshells today - she was tired. He supposed a surprise family member did that to a person. He wouldn't know.

"It's been a long day," Harry sighed. He yawned and stretched. "I'll deal with Ron and go to bed."

She nodded and slumped back into her seat. Harry smiled and made his way to his dormitory, knowing Hermione would be ready in the morning to badger them persistently until she got the answers she wanted, as had happened time and time again since they were young and impressionable eleven year olds.

In the dorm room, Dean, Seamus and Neville were all watching Ron. He paced the diameter of the room; a caged lion ready to spring at the first opportunity. It was evident that all three had been occupied before Ron's arrival, though they'd each ceased their activities at the sight of their livid roommate. Harry couldn't remember how many times they'd been witness to Ron's rages, though this time was no different. A part of him wondered if he should even bother: Ron was still angry beyond words, he was tired and his bed was calling. Unfortunately, his curiosity won out. Besides, he didn't think he'd be able to sleep with Ron's incessant pacing.

"Ron." Harry began. The ginger didn't bother acknowledging him. He tried again, sharper this time. "Ron!"

Ron's lanky frame halted in the centre of the room. He turned, glowering.

"What happened?"

"Bloody Charlie, that's what bloody happened!" Ron spat, starting his pacing once more. "Bloody buggering hell, I hate him."

Harry arched an eyebrow. He honestly hadn't been expecting that. A sleepless night in the Burrow summers earlier had Ron admitting that Charlie was the older brother Ron most looked up to. In their twelve year old eyes, Charlie was everything Ron had wanted to be: fearless, brave, successful and good at Quidditch. That role in Ron's life ensured a good deal of respect and perhaps a little hero worship. In the years since then, Ron had been able to relate to Charlie better and as such, the two were considerably close despite the fact they were years apart in age. Therefore, such an outburst was a surprise. "What did he do, Ron?"

Ron gave an infuriated growl, clenching his fists and looking ready to throw punches. Warily, Harry braced himself, though for Ron's news or the possible punches, Harry wasn't sure. Perhaps both. In his desk chair, Seamus watched Ron's progress to and from the room, looking entirely unruffled. There had been no bombshells for him that day. For that alone, Harry envied his Irish roommate. Dean was slumped against his headboard, also watching Ron. He looked tired though, ready to keel over at any moment. Neville was stretched out along his bed, head at the footboard and idly flipping through a navy leather bound journal - his family's grimoire - while he waited for Ron's temper to cool.

"There's a contract between the Prewett and Bones houses," Ron finally said, his anger making his voice unsteady. It had been minutes since Harry had entered the room, most of which were spent in silence. His words however attracted the attention of the four others in the room. "He's decided that - because I'm her age - that I'm the perfect candidate to be betrothed to Susan bloody Bones."

Harry wondered if he'd ever stop feeling surprised. It had been a day of them, though he was sure more waited for him around the corner. He decided he hated them.

Seamus sat up in his chair, looking suitably impressed. "Why're you so mad? She's a looker. I mean - really - have you seen her knocke-"

"Seamus," Neville interrupted, "Now's probably not a good time."

Harry couldn't agree more. Ron looked ready to kill. Harry didn't think the excuse that Seamus was being an insensitive moron would pass in the Wizengamot Chambers.

"Why not one of your other brothers?" Harry queried. "Why not Charlie, himself?"

"He says he and Bill are too old. He doesn't want to talk to Percy - at all. Fred and George - well - they're a package deal, you know?"

"Which leaves you," Neville surmised.

Ron nodded jerkily and dropped onto his bed. He buried his head in his hands and groaned, looking more dejected than he had since that time in second year when they'd learnt Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets. Harry had hoped he would never have to see Ron like that again.

He sighed to himself. It would be a long night.

-!- -#-

**Thanks must go to my beta, who's username I can't spell for my life. Out of fear of butchering the german language, I won't try to. Also, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. **

**Until next time **

**-t **


	8. Chapter 7: The Lord Brocklehurst

**The Lord and his Lady **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter universe. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Seven: The Lord Brocklehurst **

Typically, the first day of classes were greeted with bleary eyes and grudging attendance. Mornings were awful in general - the morning of the first day of classes more so. It was simply an accepted fact of life. This time, Harry hadn't needed to be woken by his alarm clock. Instead, he'd woken at dawn, his subconscious reminding him of what needed to be done that day. He'd spent the time since then staring up at the message the twins had left on the inside of his canopy, amused despite himself. In neon orange letters, Fred and George had left a message that couldn't have been truer if it came out of the mouth of a baby: Today is the first day of the rest of your life. He wondered how they'd managed to do it without waking him or Neville - the lightest sleepers in their dorm room. However they had, he was impressed by the charm work. Accompanying the floating message were animated balloons and muted firecrackers, somehow harmless when the sparks landed on his skin. Truly, the twins were brilliant.

At seven o'clock, he rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. When he returned, dressed in his uniform and ready for his day, he packed the books he'd need and woke Ron. Dean was already stirring and Neville had already woken Seamus. The routine was down pat, practised day after day for four years. In that time, it hadn't changed in the slightest. He doubted it ever would.

In the common room, Hermione, Neville, Fay and Holly were talking idly about unimportant things. Neville seemed to appreciate the fact that the girls were skirting around the purple hippogriff in the room and honestly, Harry couldn't blame his friend. If he could, he'd pretend everything was normal for the rest of his days. Unfortunately, he could only play make believe until they entered the Great Hall for breakfast. There, they each settled around the middle of the table where Lavender and Parvati were engrossed in an enthusiastic discussion about the newest face of Teen Witch Weekly.

Harry tuned them out with practised ease and instead turned to Holly for a conversation about the European Quidditch league. While they talked, they served themselves their respective breakfasts and tucked in, knowing with four years of experience just how much energy was needed to get through a Hogwarts day. Ron, Seamus and Dean joined them soon thereafter, bleary eyed and hair a mess - all three looked like they'd just rolled out of bed. That was - of course - the truth.

As per usual, conversation ceased with the cacophony of noise that was the delivery of post. Among the myriad of owls big and small, he caught a glint of Hedwig's snowy feathers. With her arrival, Harry's heart rate accelerated, hands suddenly clammy and stomach suddenly churning. The sardonic part of his mind mused over the fact that the boy who'd fought Voldemort three times and lived to tell the tale was scared of receiving a letter.

Hedwig settled down on Harry's shoulder, dropped to his forearm and ducked her head to take a drink from Harry's goblet of pumpkin juice. When her thirst was quenched, she greeted him with a hoot barely heard over the rest of the owls and accepted the piece of bacon Harry offered her as thanks. He quietly doted on her for a while, very aware of the fact he was simply prolonging the inevitable. Eventually though, Hedwig grew tired and was ready to catch some z's, so he launched her into the air and watched her fly a loop around the hall and out the windows. No doubt, she was headed for the owlery, though he had no time to think about that. Instead, Neville brought his attention to the letter he'd been dreading all night.

"After that impressive display of procrastination," the tawny haired Gryffindor began in a surprise display of sarcasm, "I'm sure the looks Mandy Brocklehurst is sending your way is telling me that she's absolutely dying to find out about what her father had to say to you."

Harry grunted and resisted the urge to turn around to see if Brocklehurst was legitimately looking at him. Instead, he picked up the letter between wary fingers, broke the seal and began to read.

Fortunately, Lord Brocklehurst seemed to be of the understanding sort, stating in his letter that he certainly didn't fault Harry for the actions of Lords past. In a display of good humour, he commented on the fact he hadn't planned on giving away his daughter so soon, with an underlying hint of understanding, with the side note that if the Daily Prophet were to be disbelieved, Harry was of the okay sort, regardless of his extreme luck. Lord Brocklehurst then requested a meeting between the two of them the next day, after dinner, so they could discuss the terms of the contract and also start on building a relationship. He then added that he'd rather see Harry approach Mandy on his own terms as opposed to ones mandated by himself, for which Harry was glad. Finally, Lord Brocklehurst finished the letter off by stating that the former Lords Brocklehurst and Potter no doubt had a good reason for the agreement between the two houses and Lord Brocklehurst hoped of seeing it end on good terms; the implied hopes of a stronger alliance between the two houses not missed by Harry.

Harry sighed a breath of relief and slid the letter into an inner pocket of his robe. He would have to write a return letter that evening with Neville's aid, though until then, he had classes to attend and curious friends who needed to mind their own business.

"Not too bad?" Neville queried, his own letter folded between his fingers. Harry shook his head - it wasn't so bad. Neville gave a pleased smile and pocketed his letter before he returned to his breakfast. Harry followed suit.

The end of breakfast was followed up by the return to classes after their summer reprieve. Harry and his fellow fifth years were fortunate enough to avoid the wrath of Professors Snape and Umbridge that day. Though by lunch time, the horror stories of both classes were already being discussed. Evidently, Snape was taking his anger at the current climate out on his students and Umbridge was simply just awful. Suffice to say, Harry was not looking forward to either class.

"She's pretty terrible," Fred admitted upon the fifth year's enquiry. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Ginny had gathered around the Quidditch team, simply ready to listen.

"And that's taking into consideration the fact that Lockhart, Quirrell and Rothwood were all terrible," George added. Rothwood was the Defence professor the Twins had during their second year. Harry didn't know him personally, though from what he'd heard, he put Quirrell to shame in the coward department.

Fred continued where George had left off. "We like to think our scale of awful is fairly lax. But Merlin, all she had us doing is reading from the textbook."

Finally, George concluded with, "This year's Defence will be bad. Terrible, even. I'd bet on it."

They each sat in grim silence, simply taking in what they'd heard. Finally, it was broken by Ron.

"Well Hermione's already said that we need to learn to fight. It'll just be from someone else, I guess." He shrugged. "Besides, it wasn't like any of us expected much from her."

They all nodded their agreement. None commented on Ron's serious approach to the matter, though they were all very aware that it was a strange sight. After all, Ron was very much an unmotivated student. Perhaps it was his closeness to Harry and Neville - both of whom had been so heavily affected by the last war - or maybe Ron was just growing up, but either way, they were all pleased to see that Ron wasn't taking it so lightly. War was no game after all. Though they hadn't reached the need to fight yet, that day was coming ever closer and none of them were prepared.

As lunch drew to a close, the fifth year Gryffindors each got to their feet and headed out of the Great Hall. Charms was a class most of them looked forward to and it showed. Professor Flitwick exuded an enthusiasm for his subject that never failed to affect the dourest of students and the Gryffindors were no different.

It was only as they reached the door that Harry realised they were sharing this year's Charms class with the Ravenclaws. He swallowed hard, suddenly anxious. He caught a glimpse of Mandy's brunette ponytail and Lisa's ebony curls before they disappeared into the classroom and he froze. For a moment, he wondered if skipping his class would be understood by his professor. Then he caught Hermione's disapproving, I-know-what-you're-thinking-and-there's-no-way-in- God's-name-I'll-let-you-follow-through-with-it glare that never failed to have him obediently doing what he was told. He slumped, groaned and reluctantly dragged his feet into the Charms classroom with the hopes that he wouldn't have the chance to talk to anyone - namely Mandy - during class.

Naturally, Harry Potter could never get what he wanted.

They filed into the classroom in groups of two or three and each took their usual seats from the year before. The room had been constructed in the form of an amphitheatre, with the doors at the top of the room and Flitwick's lectern at the inner centre. There was an aisle dividing the rows of desks in two - also convenient when Flitwick had to put up with a combined Slytherin/Gryffindor class.

Harry's usual seat was beside the last Gryffindor girl in his year. Fay was a petite girl with auburn curls and jade eyes. She was very bright, though where Hermione liked to stand out and flourish, Fay preferred to blend into the background and remain unnoticed. He appreciated her quiet nature and he supposed she appreciated something about him too - though what it was, he didn't know.

"Good morning," he greeted the girl. She smiled in return, though said nothing. Instead, she turned back to Holly, the girl chatting away about anything and everything. Not bothered by her actions, he instead settled more comfortably in his seat, withdrew his textbook from his bag and waited for Flitwick to arrive. When he did, the Charms Master spared only moments to accept summer assignments and call attendance before he was lecturing on the importance of the O.W.L year, the O.W.L exams, the expectations he had from their class for the term, and finally, the theory behind the Charm they'd be learning that day. Harry listened and took his notes and silently hoped that the entire lesson was theoretical.

It wasn't.

Halfway through the two hour lesson, Flitwick ended his lecture and declared it was time to practise the spell. As per usual, he split them into pairs. This time however, rather than mix them within their own houses, he instead paired up a Ravenclaw with a Gryffindor - thus resulting in Harry's clammy hands and Neville's nervous fidgeting.

When Harry was paired with Lisa and Neville paired with Mandy, Harry didn't know whether or not to be nervous or relieved. On one hand, Harry didn't think he'd met a girl his age as intimidating as Lisa Turpin. On the other, he was admittedly glad to put off his meeting with Mandy for at least another hour. At the same time, he had no doubt that Lisa would interrogate him to the best of her ability. After all, the two girls were the best of friends. According to Hermione, girls did such things all the time.

"So," Harry began, feeling inordinately awkward beside Lisa. "Glamour charms. They're really something."

Lisa managed to successfully arch a single eyebrow. She looked entirely unimpressed. "Are you going to tell me what you intend to do about Mandy, or am I going to have to … force it out of you?"

He winced, picturing himself strapped to a chair with the willowy Ravenclaw wielding sharp and pointy torture implements like a pro. Really - he needed to get a grip. Lisa, though intimidating, wouldn't hurt him.

Probably…

Pulling himself back to reality, he shrugged, unsure of what else to do or say. He didn't have an answer for her. He looked around, seeing Neville with a deer-caught-in-headlights expression on his face and looking ready to bolt. They caught each other's gazes and winced with shared discomfort. The next hour would be a very long one.

Lisa huffed, displeased with his response. Nevertheless, she dropped the topic and turned her attention to practising the series of spells Flitwick had covered in their theory portion. She wielded her wand with a lazy sort of grace and he watched her, wondering what she thought about the current state of affairs. He didn't ask. Instead, he followed her lead and turned his attention to mastering as many glamour charms as possible. There was a lengthy list of them designed for a variety of purposes, though Harry focused mainly on the disguise charms. They would probably come in handy later.

"So what do you think about Mandy?"

Harry sighed to himself, focus broken. He'd managed three of the eight basic glamour charms and was eager to manage the others. It seemed Lisa didn't plan on letting him do that. "I don't really have an opinion," he replied, "I think I've had two conversations with her in the four years we've been here. It's not much of a foundation to form one."

She seemed to scrutinise him then and Harry resisted the urge to fidget. Instead, he focused his gaze on the list of spells though registered nothing. He rolled his wand in his hand, comforted by its presence and the warmth it radiated. It soothed his frayed ends and he breathed deeply, relaxed despite Lisa's unfaltering gaze.

"If she's open to the idea, I think I would like to get to know her. Before then, I just want to get used to everything. I wasn't ready for any of this. It's something I'm still adjusting to."

She nodded, though didn't comment. He was somewhat glad for the silence.

The rest of the lesson passed quickly. When it was over, Harry packed up his things, bid farewell to Lisa and exited the classroom. In the corridor, he met Ron, Hermione and Neville and asked, "So who's got what now?"

"I asked Professor McGonagall to join all five of the new classes," Hermione declared.

Next to her, Ron rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

She elbowed him sharply. "Shut up, Ron. Just because you're not at all academically motivated, it doesn't mean the rest of us aren't."

He opened his mouth to retort, though was cut off before he could.

"So Economics then," Neville interrupted. He paused and then asked, "Does anyone know where it is?"

"Second floor," Hermione replied, "In the old theatre."

The old theatre was a room much like Professor Flitwick's classroom. The difference was that there was a stage in the centre and two divides within the rows of seats. It was also much bigger - most likely to allow for more students. A number of students were already there, predominately male upper years. Among them were Fred and George whom, upon sighting the quartet of fifth years, waved to catch their attention. The four settled around the twins and Lee, pleased for the company.

When Bill Weasley stepped up to the on-stage lectern Harry turned to Ron and the twins with a question on the tip of his tongue. The bewildered expressions on all three of their faces silenced him. It seemed that none of the three brothers had known about Bill's career change. No doubt, Bill was in Britain to be closer to his family, though this was unexpected. Regardless, he settled back in his chair and prepared to listen attentively. Bill wouldn't fail to make the topic of Economics interesting.

Harry could still remember the wait before the Quidditch World Cup had been full of amazing and exciting stories of Bill's adventures in Egypt. Even the boring aspects - like Ancient Runes and research - had Harry listening attentively, awestruck and with a little fan boy-like crush on the oldest Weasley brother. That phase had passed with his entry of the Triwizard Tournament. Growing up made it so much easier to find a person's flaws. Regardless, he still carried a lot of respect for the former curse breaker.

At the end of the class, while Bill held Ron back to talk, the six others left the room. Outside, they each began to give their respective opinions of Bill's class. "I'm glad Bill - Professor Weasley - can make anything interesting. Otherwise, I think I'd have just slept through that entire lesson," Harry commented. It earned him a reproachful scowl from Hermione. He ignored her.

"We didn't know he knew much about Economics," Fred began.

George nodded his agreement beside his twin. "We thought he only focused on the curse breaking division of Gringotts."

"It's a welcome surprise though," Fred continued.

"Means we have another sibling to target," George grinned.

"Because Merlin knows Ginny is absolutely terrifying," Lee quipped.

They all laughed, reaching Gryffindor tower in good spirits. They had an hour until dinner and each separated to do their own things. Neville and Harry headed to their dormitory, finding that Seamus and Dean had beaten them there. The two had been in the Economics class as well, though had been seated with Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff and Stephen Cornfoot from Ravenclaw. After greeting them both, Harry turned to Neville. "Could you help me with my reply to Lord Brocklehurst?"

Neville nodded. "Sure. Let me just reply to Lord Turpin and I'll get back to you."

While Neville wrote his letter, Harry began his assigned homework. Sirius and Remus had drilled the importance of good grades into Harry's head on the last day of the holidays. As such, he put the effort in, determined not to disappoint his second father and the man who'd become something of a mentor. After years of degradation and punishment from the Dursleys at every perceived slight, however, dumbing himself down and using minimal effort was a difficult habit to break. He was trying though. For now, that was the best he could do.

By the time he'd penned the letter and sent it off with Hedwig, it was dinner time. With Ron still not back from talking with Bill and their two remaining dorm mates already gone, Harry and Neville clambered downstairs. The common room was full of students not yet gone to dinner. They passed all of them and exited out of the portrait hole, meandering through the Hogwarts corridors in comfortable silence. Finally, Neville queried, "How was Charms with Lisa?"

Harry grunted and shrugged. "She knows when to back off, I guess. Scary though." He gave a sardonic smile. "If I hadn't already stared down Voldemort…"

Neville didn't shiver, though he did wince. It was progress. "Child's play, right?"

Harry shrugged again. "She didn't ask about you, if you were wondering. She was more inclined to interrogate me about Mandy."

Neville nodded. "Same with Brocklehurst."

Their conversation tapered off into silence once more. Some things didn't need to be overheard by listening ears. By then, they'd reached the Great Hall. They took the seats across from Hermione and Ron, both of whom were eating in silence.

"Something wrong?" Harry asked. Neither had greeted them upon their arrival. Usually, Hermione at least made the effort.

Hermione cast a sideways glance at Ron and sighed. "Ron got in an argument with Bill."

Harry winced, guessing at the topic of their fight. "Charlie, right?"

Hermione nodded her confirmation before she returned to their dinner. Neville and Harry served themselves and ate in silence. They respected Ron's need to stew and let him be. Later, Ron would vent in the privacy of their dorm room, comfortable in the knowledge that whatever happened in there stayed in there. It was a corny promise the five had made one sleepless night during first year. To that day, the promise had yet to be broken.

"I didn't notice - did you get a reply from your dad?" Harry asked Hermione. She looked up from her dinner and nodded.

"He was oath bound not to talk about his former family," Hermione explained. "I think it's a layered vow of some sort. He couldn't talk about magic to anyone who didn't already know about it. Same goes for his family."

Neville tilted his head curiously. "It makes you wonder if there are any more layers, right?"

Hermione smiled grimly. "Just about."

"Did he say anything else?" Harry queried.

Hermione nodded. "It turns out he wasn't actually disowned, but left on his own volition. It seems he couldn't handle the disappointment from his parents. They enrolled him in a Muggle boarding school. He hasn't seen any of them since he took the oath after finishing school."

"And what do you think?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. "I can't really be angry with him for not being able to tell me. At the same time, I would have not had to put up with any ridiculous bigotry had I known." She paused to take and swallow a mouthful of food before she continued. "I suppose it is water under the bridge. There's no point in crying over spilt milk, right?"

Harry acknowledged Hermione's rhetorical question with a shrug and returned his focus to dinner. A part of him wondered what the purpose for the oath was, though his thoughts were diverted by the sight of Mandy at the Ravenclaw table. She caught his gaze, and they both attempted smiles. Then he looked away, feeling awkward. Before he did, he noticed with an objective sort of eye that Mandy was really rather pretty.

Back in the dormitory later that night, it took only moments for Ron to tell all about what happened after their Economics class. It seemed that Bill had tried to talk to Ron about Charlie and his actions. Ron had subsequently raged at Bill, departing in a temper and not at all interested in talking to his oldest brother. It meant that Ron was now unwilling to talk to Bill, Charlie or Percy. Harry only hoped that the current state of things wouldn't end up tearing the Weasley family apart because at the rate things were going, that was exactly what would happen.

"Look on the bright side," Neville began, "You've still got two years before you come of age. It at least gives you time to get to know her. Take it from someone who actually knows - she's a nice girl."

"And hot to boot," Seamus quipped.

Harry rolled his eyes while Ron attempted to incinerate Neville and Seamus with his glare alone. With work to do and not interested to be put upon Ron's hit list, Harry turned his chair to face his desk and continued the homework he'd been assigned that day.

When it was done, Harry penned a letter to Sirius and Remus. He explained the current goings-on on the Lord front, wrote about his first day of classes and such things. When the letter was finished, he folded it and slid it into an envelope, sealing it with a conjured wax seal already moulded with the Potter crest. He'd send it off with Hedwig the next morning.

With nothing better to do, he trudged downstairs and into the common room. There, he joined the circle of fifth years playing a game of poker. It had been introduced by Dean and Seamus the year before with a disapproving Hermione intermittently adding her two sickles, but in the end, they'd all taken to the game with vigour. Surprisingly, it had been Neville with the best poker face with Lavender a close second. Harry himself was abysmal at the game, Parvati declaring that it was sweet he wore his heart on his sleeve. That had been an awkward night, though after the Yule Ball, she'd avoided saying such things about him. He still wasn't sure whether or not he should be relieved or guilty about that fact.

"Hey Harry," Lavender greeted, "Ron still sulking?"

"Last I checked," Harry replied. "What are you all playing for?"

"Sweets," Holly replied, "Will you play the next round?"

Harry declined the offer and took the resulting taunting with good grace. Afterwards, he moved to sit beside Hermione. She was reading the same book as she had been the night before, her frizzy curls pulled into a haphazard bun and ink splotches across her cheeks. She looked up when he sat beside her, though didn't speak. Instead, she curled into his side and returned her attention to her tome. He sighed quietly, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and let himself relax. For the moment, he had nothing to do and was too tired to worry about the future.

-!- -#-

Early the next morning, Harry gathered his firebolt and headed out to the Quidditch pitch. The castle and grounds were silent, as if someone had taken a remote to the world and muted the volume completely. Though it was barely the beginning of autumn, Harry's breath misted in the air in front of him and his skin pimpled with goose bumps.

Nevertheless, he continued on his way and finally reached the pitch as the hands on his wristwatch turned to six o'clock. He sighed deeply, the tension escaping him with the action. A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips, pleased to be here, pleased to be about to fly. It had been nearly a year since he'd properly flown - he'd missed it beyond belief. Therefore, without further ado, Harry mounted his broom and kicked off into the lightening sky. As he did, he left his worries and concerns on the ground beneath his feet, determined to revel in nothing but the weightlessness and freedom that came with this one thing he loved above all else.

Back on the ground an hour later, Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower and readied himself for another day of classes. He was unfortunate enough to have Potions, Defence and History in the one day, though consoled himself with the knowledge that Umbridge couldn't do anything without committing political suicide. He might have said the same thing about Professor Snape, though all things considered, Harry wasn't sure if the head of Slytherin cared much for his political standing.

According to Sirius, Professor Snape was a half-blood with a Muggle father and a mother from a minor house, tolerated for his expertise in the Potions field but not much else. The fact that Dumbledore had vouched for him at the end of the first war didn't mean much in a society where blood meant everything. As such, Harry didn't think Snape would abide by social niceties and political expectations. Therefore, it was with a reluctant sigh that he headed to the dungeons after breakfast, dreading the two hours ahead of him.

As they waited outside the classroom, Neville nudged Harry in the side to pull him from a conversation with Hermione about the summer homework Professor Snape had assigned. Harry turned to Neville curiously, only to look at the Slytherins upon Neville's direction.

It was common knowledge that Slytherin house had an on-going power play within their ranks - both within individual year groups and as an entire house. At the end of the last school year, the Slytherins in Harry's year had shown a united front, led by Malfoy with the others falling into rank behind him. It seemed that in the time between the final task and now, things had been significantly altered within the house of serpents. Malfoy and Parkinson stood separate from the others. Another faction was made up by Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle and Theo Nott. That left the last four: Greengrass, Davis, Zabini and Moon. Given that it wasn't a divide caused by social status, Harry had a feeling it was caused by personal loyalties.

With that in mind, Harry wondered why Malfoy and Parkinson weren't standing with Theo and company. The way they'd been going on about him at the end of the last school year, Harry had been under the impression that neither could wait to join the ranks of Voldemort's Death Eaters. Now wasn't the time to consider the matter though. Snape had just thrown open the door in his typical dramatic fashion and Harry would need all of his focus to survive the next two hours. Even if that wasn't the case, Harry didn't think he wanted to know why Malfoy and Parkinson were caught in the middle of this particularly strange power play.

-!- -#-

By the time Harry's Government and Politics class rolled around, the boy who lived was frustrated, tired and ready for his day to be over. Unfortunately, he had a while yet before he could crawl into bed and dream up ways his day could have been improved.

He trudged into the old theatre and dropped himself into a seat, Neville beside him. They were joined by Ernie and a belligerent Ron, whom upon questioning, had admitted Charlie had enrolled him into the class after deciding the youngest Weasley son would be fulfilling the Bones/Prewett betrothal contract. After all, if (or rather, _when_) Ron married Susan, he'd be acting as proxy for the Bones family head until their child (shudder) took the reins: Fun times.

Also in this class was Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott and a number of N.E.W.T level students whose names Harry couldn't care to remember. Briefly, he wondered if Cedric would have been in this class, but he quashed the thought as quickly as it came and tried to focus on anything but the Hufflepuff who died far before his time.

As Harry was about to start up a conversation with Ron about Quidditch, their new professor approached the lectern and Harry arched a single eyebrow, admittedly surprised. Elphias Doge, adorned in a set of robes from the turn of the century didn't seem at all the teacher type. In fact, if the man's stories were to believed, he was something of a thrill seeker in his glory days. As such, he looked particularly out of place behind the old oak lectern.

From talks at Grimmauld Place, Harry knew the man was blunt and outspoken, passionate for what he believed in and unafraid of what needed to be done. Harry only hoped that passion bled into Doge's teaching because Harry honestly didn't think he'd be able to handle another Professor Binns.

Fortunately, Doge wasn't painfully dull, though he had a propensity to go on tangents that ended suddenly when reminded of his original topic and the class of teenagers he was supposed to be teaching. It was amusing more than anything, though it did make Harry wonder if the man was qualified to be teaching. Were there even such qualifications in the wizarding world? Harry didn't know.

They filed out of the classroom, and, after bidding farewell to Ernie, the three Gryffindors trekked back to their common room. Once things were deposited in the dormitory, while Ron trudged back to the common area for a game of chess, Harry settled at his desk to while away the hour until his meeting with Lord Brocklehurst.

At ten to the hour, Harry retrieved a summons from Professor McGonagall (via Dobby). Once he'd donned a set of robes and straightened his hair, the young wizard made his way to his head of house's office, heart pounding and stomach churning. It wasn't every day he met his betrothed's father and so he was understandably anxious. Despite the fact that the man had come across as very amiable through his letter, Harry was contracted to marry the bloke's daughter and he was pretty sure it was a rule somewhere that fathers were not to like the men who would steal away their little girls.

When he reached the closed door, he tried to remember the very quick etiquette lessons Sirius had foisted on him during the last days of summer. Preparing to fail this meeting spectacularly (even though he knew that he could not afford that) Harry knocked on the door with a surprisingly steady hand and waited to be granted entry. He wasn't disappointed and therefore slipped inside silently, unsurprised to see his Transfiguration Professor seated at her desk with a middle aged man sitting across from her. He attempted a pleasant smile. "Professor McGonagall, you summoned me?"

"Yes, I did," she confirmed, rising to her feet. At the end of the last school year, Harry had been an inch or so shorter than his head of house. Now he towered over her and it was admittedly a strange sight to behold. "I would like to introduce you to Lord Nathaniel Brocklehurst, patriarch of…"she was silenced by the hand the stranger had just raised.

"Please, may we drop the formalities? My daughter tells me you," Lord Brocklehurst gestured to Harry, "Don't care much for them. In all honesty, I don't care much for them either."

Harry dropped his shoulders and sighed in relief and McGonagall managed a small smile.

"Then I shall leave you both to it," the Scotswoman declared, "If you'll excuse me, but the elves are serving my favourite tonight." She exited the room via the door Harry had just entered from, a supporting hand on his shoulder the only gesture of comfort she could provide as she past. Then she was gone, the door closed behind her and a deafening silence in her wake.

Harry fidgeted where he sat, feeling inordinately uncomfortable under the Duke's scrutiny. Despite himself though, he wondered what the man saw when he looked at Harry. Did he simply see the boy who lived? Maybe he saw the newest Lord Potter? Perhaps the man saw beyond the titles, seeing the teenaged boy beneath all of them, way out of his depth and drowning in a sea of life altering changes. Then again, he might have just seen something else entirely.

"Forgive me if I'm about to commit a massive social faux pas," Harry began, internally wondering where the hell he was spewing this tripe from. He held out a hand. "I'm Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you sir, though I wish it were under less… serious circumstances."

Nathaniel Brocklehurst gave a humoured smile and shook Harry's hand in his own. "A pleasure, Harry. I'm Nathaniel - or Nate, if you prefer. Don't feel the need to stand on my account though. Then again, Professor McGonagall's seats were never particularly comfortable…"

Harry managed a feeble smile as he sat rigidly in the chair beside Brocklehurst's. "So, you were a Gryffindor?"

Nathaniel nodded, blue eyes going vacant. "Yes. I was in the same year as Frank Longbottom and Eddie Bones in school - a year above your parents. I find it absolutely unbelievable that I'm now colleagues - for lack of a better word - with Frank and Jimmy's boys." He shook his head, a sad sort of smile on his face. "None of that though. Tell me about yourself, Harry. We'll get to the boring things later."

Harry shrugged, unsure of what to say. He looked around his head of house's office, perhaps hoping for inspiration to slap him across the face. Instead, he came across the Quidditch Cup photo taken in the summer of 1994, with the smiling faces of a much younger Gryffindor dream team waving and cheering back at him. They all looked impossibly childlike in the photo - even the then seventeen year old Oliver, who's seventh year resolution had just been fulfilled and who had never looked happier. Harry wished he could go back to that day, where Harry's dreams had been of a family-oriented future with Sirius, four more years of winning the Quidditch cup and the naive hope that that day would never end.

Nathaniel, who'd apparently followed Harry's gaze, smiled fondly. "I'd heard that you'd followed in your father's footsteps. You enjoy Quidditch?"

Harry nodded his confirmation. "I do, though I enjoy flying more. There are no rules that way."

Nathaniel blinked, seeming to look right through Harry. In a quiet, almost wistful tone, he said, "It's uncanny just how much you remind me of your father. He told me something very similar once upon a time."

Harry stayed silent as the man collected his scattered thoughts, his heart pounding. When Brocklehurst was apparently collected once more, Harry spoke. "Thank you for telling me that. I regard observations like that very highly."

"You have no need to thank me for the truth," Brocklehurst shrugged off Harry's thanks. "But I believe we should get to the matter of this meeting, no?"

Harry swallowed hard but nodded, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. "It's probably for the best, sir."

"What I understand of the contract is that it is magically binding."

Harry scowled darkly upon having his assumptions proved right. He'd dealt with one magically binding contract already. He didn't want to put up with another one. In his mind, one was one too many for his lifetime. "Wonderful," he muttered. "Let's just hope we both come out of it alive this time."

Brocklehurst ignored Harry's mutterings and continued. "It was also written up by my father and Charlus Potter, signed on the 5th of August, 1980. Neither you nor Mandy were even a week old."

Harry had known about the date already, though he was surprised to learn how close he and Mandy's birthdays were. He also wondered about why the contract had been made so soon after their respective births. Wasn't there some sort of grace period to ensure the baby was healthy and whatnot? It seemed strange to have been written up when it was. Harry said as much.

"I can't say I know my father's motives behind this contract." Harry's future father-in-law replied. "Times were rough then and alliances were more than political. I think this was there way of ensuring both our houses stayed away from the dark faction of society because there is a clause stating that the contract will be made null and void if either party are a member of the Death Eaters. The contract itself was probably to symbolise the alliance they had."

Harry nodded his understanding and withdrew his own copy of the contract. He and Neville had gone through it that first night after the inheritance test, filtering through the legal jargon to find the actual details. He and Mandy had to be married after both had sat their O.W.L exams with at least one of them being of age. If both were of age, and had each sat their O. , than the marriage had to take place before both parties turned eighteen. An heir had to be produced within three years of the marriage and a dowry of five thousand galleons was to be paid by the Brocklehursts to the house of Potter.

There was probably more, but they were the main points Harry and Neville had found. Harry asked Nathaniel if he'd found anything else and upon receiving a negative response, Harry asked, "So what now?"

"I'd suggest you get to know my daughter," Brocklehurst replied. "There's a two year gap in which you two can marry, though I think it should take place sooner rather than later, given the current climate."

"Why?" He asked sharply and then winced at how rude he sounded. "I mean… why not after we've both finished school?"

"Because war is coming, Harry Potter. No matter how much you'd like to ignore it, you - and by association, my daughter - will be in the centre of it. Your line must continue."

"Why?" He repeated. Again, it came out terser than he'd intended.

"Why, the balance of course." Brocklehurst smiled a secretive sort of smile, as if to say that he knew something Harry didn't. Harry, who never liked not knowing something, wasn't pleased.

-!- -#-

**AUthor's Note:** Looky looky, an update within a month of the last one. Proud? Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Drop me a review, if you please.

Also, thanks to my beta tueful987, with a side of apologies in case I just spelt his username wrong. His editing makes this a far better story than it would be without.

Until next time

-t


	9. Chapter Eight: The Bonding Experience

The Lord and his Lady

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter universe. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter Eight: The Bonding Experience

On Saturday morning, Harry was woken up abruptly by Fred and George. Both had jumped into his bed on either side of him, their grinning faces inches from his own and suffice to say, far too close for comfort.

"Rise and shine," Fred began. Harry knew because it was always Fred who started their ridiculous speech patterns.

"It's morning time, Harrykins," George added.

"The sun is bright."

"The sky is blue,"

"And Angelina has scheduled Quidditch training,"

"For me and you."

Groggily, Harry sat up between the two and said plaintively, "I hope you two eat shite and die."

Both laughed merrily and jumped from his bed with the sickening sort of energy that came with hyperactive children. Harry scowled at the sight, wishing his captain wasn't so sadistic as to schedule Saturday morning practises at six o'clock in the flipping morning. Unfortunately, she'd gotten it into her head that a strong body meant a strong team, so she had them doing early morning exercise regimens as of now. Oliver had done the same, though Harry had been holding out hope that Angelina wasn't so sadistic as their former captain. However, if what he'd been hearing from Angelina, he'd soon be wishing for Oliver's old exercise routine for the team.

Outside the Gryffindor locker room, Harry met the rest of his team, dressed for exercise and ready to despise Angelina within an inch of her life. The others were each similarly dressed, the twins in matching, lurid orange t-shirts that might have been part of Ron's Chudley Canons paraphernalia.

"Alright," Angelina began, "I think today we'll work on stretches and after that, a jog around the pitch - as many laps as possible. After that, a ten minute break before flying drills. Tomorrow, I expect half a circuit more than today, plus push ups and everything else Oliver had us doing."

"Stretches?" Katie looked hopelessly lost. The twins, too, looked as if they had no idea what Angelina was talking about. Oliver hadn't introduced stretches to them, though that was probably because he had no idea what they were. Purebloods - aside from the professional quidditch league - had no reason to know the minute details of personal health and fitness.

In hindsight, that was really rather strange.

Harry sighed and turned to Angelina. "How about I work on exercises with the twins for an hour and you work with the girls? That allows for three hours of flight training."

Angelina nodded her agreement and the two genders split off, Harry to one side of the pitch and the girls to the other. "First things first," Harry began, "Stretches are designed to loosen up the muscles. It lessens the likelihood of muscle cramps and spasms. Now, follow my lead."

An hour later, after a series of exercises Harry barely remembered from primary school, the six met back up outside the locker room with brooms in hand. Fred and George were in pain, Alicia and Katie similarly agonised. Angelina, it seemed, had begun exercising in the summer and looked barely winded and Harry, who'd always been fairly fit, a little more so. As he eyed the twins though, he could console himself with the knowledge that he wasn't in nearly as much pain as Fred and George.

After flight and reflex drills (considerably harder with more height and weight to distribute correctly), they began a mock game with Harry acting as a substitute Keeper. He wasn't great at the position, though neither was he terrible - something Angelina commented on as they trudged back to the locker room at half past nine.

"You're a good Keeper," she commented, "A phenomenal Seeker - yes - but a fair Keeper as well. Have you ever tried chasing or beating?"

"I tried Chasing before second year - at the Weasleys. I was alright, though I'm terrible at Beating."

Fred tilted his head thoughtfully. "You know, that might just be because you were a scrawny little bugger when you were twelve. You're probably better now."

Harry shrugged noncommittally. "Regardless, Seeker's my shtick. I'm not giving it up."

"We wouldn't ask you to," Angelina assured, "We wouldn't give our star Seeker up for anything but failing grades." McGonagall was very strict about that. The rule within the house was that if someone was getting a failing average across the academic board, the student was suspended from any and all extra-curricular activities until their grades reached an average of acceptable or higher.

Katie chimed in, "Or the professional circuit. I heard from Oliver over the summer. His coach has been asking about you, you know? Turns out, a fair number of professional teams are practically chomping at the bit to get the youngest Hogwarts Seeker in a century."

Alicia nodded from beside the sixth year. "I heard that they think if you had the right training, you could rival Viktor Krum."

"Yeah right," he scoffed, approaching the boy's showers, towel in hand. "I'd eat the Snitch sooner than rival Viktor in flying skill."

"Considering you came very close to doing just that in your first ever game, that's not much of an impossibility," George commented.

Harry flipped his friends the finger and stepped into the shower room to wash off the sweat and grime accumulated in the four hour training session he'd just been through. He tried to ignore what his team had been saying, but the thoughts nagged at him anyway. The professional Quidditch league wanted him to join the circuit? The possibility seemed so very bizarre. It gave him a thrill though.

Unfortunately, when his hair caught on the rings he wore, he was reminded that a Quidditch future wasn't in the cards for him. At least he didn't think so. He was the head of two old houses and that - unfortunately - was his main priority. He didn't think politics and Quidditch coincided well unless he was an over indulgent alcoholic with a gambling problem and enough debt to sink the Titanic.

With a disheartened sigh, Harry turned off the shower and dressed himself. He was still towelling dry his hair when he returned to the locker room, finding the other five already there. Angelina was straightening out the bristles on her broom, in a heated discussion with Fred and George about a Chaser play that Harry couldn't bother remembering the name of. Alicia was rifling through her locker (the intermittent expletive telling them all that she was failing to find whatever she was looking for). Finally, Katie was braiding her hair while she watched her teammates with indulgent affection. The six of them had all joined the team in the same year and had since become a family, Oliver included as something of a fanatical older brother. With their own inside jokes, code-words and silent cues, it would be very difficult to integrate a new Keeper into the fold. In fact, it was probably why Angelina hadn't scheduled Keeper try-outs yet. Honestly, Harry couldn't blame her. He'd struggle to break the pattern too.

"Took you long enough," Katie chastised, catching sight of him as he approached his locker.

With a deft flick of his wrist, he had swatted her back with his towel. "Sorry, I was too busy daydreaming about my future Quidditch career."

"Here I was thinking you were about to say you were daydreaming about me," Fred quipped, apparently overhearing their conversation.

"Really?" George queried, "I was about to say I'd thought he was day dreaming about _me_."

Harry shuddered "Just … no." He turned back to Katie and watched as she grumbled.

"That hurt, you prat."

Harry eyed her sceptically. "You regularly get bashed by Bludgers and barely bat an eye, but when you're swatted with a towel, you complain about it hurting?" He paused. "There's really something wrong with you, Katie."

"Wow Harry, you know exactly how to make a girl feel good about herself."

Harry gave her a winning smile. "Just call me Charming - Prince Charming."

"I'll call you something alright," she muttered, but the humoured grin pulling at the corners of her mouth told another story.

"Alright guys," Angelina began before Harry could retort, "We all need to savour these last few minutes of our original team. I've called Quidditch try-outs for this afternoon and I expect you all to be there. We'll have Oliver's replacement by tonight."

"Wonderful," Katie said dully, "Just as long as it's not McLaggen, the arrogant prick."

Angelina sighed. "I'm choosing the Keeper with three things in mind: Quidditch skill, sportsmanship and a good team ethic."

"I think you've been watching too many sports psychology programmes," Harry commented.

She shrugged, looking strangely vulnerable. "I just want to be a good captain."

Alicia glanced up from her locker, staring at her long-time friend, absolutely bewildered. "Why on earth would you think you can't make a good captain?"

"Silly Angie," Katie added, "You'll be a good captain just as long as you don't turn manic-obsessive."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "We don't need another Oliver Wood. I don't know about you, but three years of training sessions in torrential downpours was enough for me."

"Not to mention those bi-monthly planning sessions," Fred agreed.

"Or those do-or-die speeches," George added.

"Or those four o'clock Wednesday morning training sessions," came from Alicia.

Angelina, who didn't seem to have heard them asked, "You really think I'll make a good captain?"

"There's no doubt in my mind," Katie confirmed.

"Well, these six o'clock exercise sessions aren't really appreciated," Harry admitted.

Angelina glared at him. "You'll appreciate them when girls go all gaga over your abs. Shut up and quit complaining."

Harry shut his mouth. "Yes sir." For a moment, there was complete silence while everyone comprehended what Harry just said. His eyes widened in horror and he opened his mouth to say something - what, he didn't know - but suddenly, the five others all burst out laughing as if it was just the funniest thing they'd ever heard. He joined them in their laughter moments later, for the moment, all his worries falling away. He was glad for the laughter, needing it after the weeks he'd had.

-!- -#-

They returned to the castle for lunch, clambering into the Great Hall in high spirits. At the Gryffindor house table, they separated to spend time with their own friends, Harry gracelessly dropping into a seat beside Ron. The youngest Weasley looked positively green, stirring his food around his plate and apparently not hungry. Given that Ron was a bottomless pit on a good day, the sight was rather worrying. "Everything alright, Ron?"

"I don't think I can do it." Ron's voice had gone up an octave - not at all an appealing sound to Harry's ears.

"I'm going to bollocks it all up and embarrass myself."

"Ron?"

"I might as well save myself the shame and not bother trying."

Harry looked to Hermione, utterly perplexed. She rolled her eyes heavenward, sighing in a put upon way, as if asking herself why she spent time with these lowly mortals.

"Ron's having a bad case of nerves," she explained in a monotone, "He's trying out for the Keeper position."

Harry eyed Ron curiously, wondering why the ginger hadn't told him. Another time, Harry might have felt hurt that Ron hadn't confided in him, but if Harry was being entirely honest with himself, things hadn't been entirely the same since Ron's abandonment during the Triwizard Tournament debacle. Also, in the week since their return to Hogwarts, Harry had spent much of his free time pumping Neville for information about anything and everything, slowly but surely getting to know the tawny haired Gryffindor in the process.

He tried not to let it bother him. Friends grew apart all the time. It was simply a part of growing up. Sometimes life took people in different directions. And on those different pathways, there would be other friends along the way. Just because he and Ron were growing apart, it didn't mean they would stop being friends completely. He just needed to remember that. Besides, it probably wouldn't hurt him to get to know others outside of his very small group of Gryffindors. He'd come a long way from the clueless, very overwhelmed eleven year old entering the magical world for the first time in a decade. He didn't need his human buffers keeping the others at bay. He'd acclimated enough to handle the chaos himself.

He shrugged, unsure of what to say. Instead, he ate his lunch and stood up when it came to a close. Before he left though, he clapped his very first friend on the shoulder. "Professor McGonagall told us on our first night in the dorms that courage wasn't being fearless. It was what we choose to do with our fear that separates the courageous from the cowardly. Remember, Gryffindors charge." He straightened up and smiled. "I'll see you on the pitch, mate."

Harry and the twins spent most of the try-outs idly tossing a Quaffle to each other. The Chasers would be critiquing the Keepers, so they were really only there for team support or some such. He was just glad he'd finished his homework already - with his planned breakfast sort-of-but-not-really date with Mandy the next morning, he doubted he'd manage to get anything academically related done that weekend.

Mandy…

The girl was a whole new kettle of fish. After agonising over his impending meeting with Mandy all of Thursday, he'd finally bitten the bullet by sending off a letter with Hedwig, requesting a private breakfast on Sunday morning. When she'd accepted, he'd immediately gone to Dobby for some much needed assistance. The elf was all too eager to help his hero - this time by providing a picnic basket he could take on his planned… whatever it was.

When all the potential Keepers had finished off their try-outs, Harry and the twins approached the hovering Chasers to get their opinions. Harry had caught glimpses of all the Keeper hopefuls: McLaggen was arrogant and would probably flounder if he missed a shot. Ron had problems with nerves and self-confidence. It was fixable, but they didn't really want to be focusing on working on his self-worth when it was their last real year as members of the same team. Natalie MacDonald, a surprisingly confident third year with the skill and even more potential - but already part of a number of other school clubs and organisations. There were two others who were simply awful, so Harry hadn't bothered catching their names.

"So what did you boys think?" Angelina queried, once they were all huddled in a circle, roughly ten feet from the ground, out of anyone's hearing range. Harry gave his observations and the twins - for a very brief moment actually serious - agreed with Harry whole-heartedly.

"We'd tease Ron," Fred said honestly, "All in good fun, mind you, But given his confidence issues and propensity to overreact, we don't think he'd be able to handle it."

"And we all know their teasing is inevitable," Alicia acknowledged.

"Aside from that," George started, "With our past as a team and everything that goes with it, he'd feel left out."

"And when he feels left out," Fred began dryly, "Be prepared to face Mt. Ronald." More seriously, he added, "Though he's got the potential to be bloody brilliant, we don't think that potential would shine on this team."

"Maybe next year, on a - mostly - fresh team would do him good." George finished."

Harry stayed silent, not giving his opinion either way. He'd already given his observation of the try-outs, but he wouldn't be swaying favour in the direction he wanted it to go in. Besides, if Ron didn't end up on the team, Harry wanted to be able to honestly say he didn't make the decision. It was probably selfish of him, but Harry had a feeling that were Ron to get angry at him a la Triwizard Tournament again, their friendship wouldn't survive it.

Harry liked to think Ron was mature enough to not get angry over something as juvenile as a place on a sports team, but the truth was, Harry didn't know for certain. The year before, he'd have said Ron would have stuck by him if his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, though that hadn't happened. Therefore, a lot of doubts had come into question and not all of them had been settled, even a year later. Therefore, he kept quiet and fortunately, none of them asked for his opinion.

After a lot of back and forth, it was finally agreed that Natalie MacDonald would become Oliver's replacement. She was remarkably easy-going, had a sense of humour and had a maturity about her that ensured she'd fit in with the rest of them despite only being in third year.

After Angelina announced it to the Keeper hopefuls and the Gryffindors who'd come to watch, the Gryffindor team gathered in the locker room to welcome their newest member. A sentimental Katie raised her wand to Oliver's locker and cleared all the wood related innuendos one or more of them had scrawled onto the front in Oliver's last three years at Hogwarts. In golden letters, she wrote Natalie's name in a curling cursive that made the third year smile upon seeing it.

"That's not everything, Macky," Katie responded, when the girl had thanked her. She opened Natalie's new locker and withdrew her new Quidditch uniform - the jersey specifically. There was a robe for games, but no one ever got excited about them. "Welcome to the team, Natalie."

-!- -#-

Harry trailed slowly up towards Gryffindor tower. The team was a few feet ahead of him, but Harry was rather reluctant to reach their common room. Facing Ron after he hadn't made the team wasn't something Harry was particularly keen on doing.

Hermione was waiting for them outside of the common room. She watched them approach with a strained smile on her face, though she didn't speak until the Chasers, the twins and Natalie had ducked past the portrait hole and it had shut behind them.

"How bad?" Harry asked. He knew it would be the only reason she was here, as opposed to sitting with Ron or reading a book.

"Pretty terrible," she admitted. "He's angry with you and the twins, mostly."

Harry sighed and leant against the wall. "He expected us to guarantee him a place on the team, didn't he?"

"I assume so," she answered. "The three of you know it's what he's always wanted."

"Is he angry or upset?" Generally, both feelings amount to shouting and angry tirades from Ron, but Harry was hoping that Ron's show of maturity in the last couple of weeks extended to his emotional reaction to certain triggers.

"Both. I think he feels a little betrayed."

"Yeah?" Harry queried. Bitterly, he added, "Well now he knows how we both feel."

"Don't say that Harry," Hermione chastised, slapping his arm.

He shrugged defensively. "It's true, isn't it? At least I said sorry to you about the Firebolt. Did he?"

She sighed and shook her head. "You know he's prideful, Harry."

He sighed, tired. "I know. I'm just frustrated. I'm sorry. Let's just go inside - it's time we face the music, anyway." But as he followed Hermione through the entrance to Gryffindor tower, he wondered at the lingering bitterness he felt. It seemed he hadn't forgiven Ron as completely as he'd thought.

-!- -#-

Ron was on his bed, hangings closed and silently brooding. Harry had seen Dean, Seamus and Neville downstairs - all of them had wished him luck as he passed them by.

Harry didn't think his luck would actually be enough for this particular conversation. Hermione had informed him on his way to the staircase that she, Dean, Neville and Seamus had tried (and failed) to talk sense into Ron. It made him wonder why they thought he'd actually manage where they had failed. After all, he was part of Ron's problem: Again.

Once Harry had put his broom away and thrown his sweaty clothes into his laundry hamper, he dragged Ron's chair beside the ginger's bed. He wasn't one for heart to hearts, but Ron was his friend - his best friend, he thought - and Harry didn't want the second youngest Weasley angry with him. He didn't have the friends to spare to give up one over a Quidditch team.

"Ron? Are you going to talk to me?"

Ron was belligerently silent.

Harry sighed, leant back against the chair and kicked his feet up through the small break in Ron's bed hangings, propping them on the bed. If Ron wasn't going to talk to him, Harry would wait until he did. Until then, Harry began to explain the team's decision. "We all agreed that your confidence needs work before you can truly be the best Keeper you can be. With the twins' teasing and the history between the six of us, we didn't think you'd reach that potential this year. We agreed that you joining us during training wouldn't be remiss, but if you're going to sulk about how we didn't guarantee you a place on the team, I'm wondering if we should bother." He sighed and rubbed his face. "These last few weeks, you've shown quite the maturity with everything, but if you expected us to give you the Keeper spot just because you're my best mate and the twins' brother, I'm wondering if I misjudged your sudden change." He paused, unsure of what else to say. "I know you've always wanted to play for the Gryffindor house team and I'm sorry you didn't get the opportunity to this year, but Natalie is unsure of whether or not she'll play next year, so you'll have the chance to try-out again next year, on a fresh team."

Ron was silent.

Harry sighed, disappointed. He stood up, returned Ron's chair to his desk and exited the dormitory. He trudged downstairs and into the common room, the frown on his face answering the fifth years' silent questions. He settled down between Neville and Dean, closed his eyes and tried not to let the disappointment bring down his mood.

-!- -#-

Morning came with a forget-me-not sky and an absence of clouds. The air was cool - though not overly so - and Harry smiled, pleased by the weather's turn out. It was a glorious day for a picnic - exactly what he'd planned for his breakfast with Mandy. He was nervous about it - they'd never been alone before - but the sunshine lifted his spirits enough to bring a dimple to his cheek and lightness to his steps.

After his exercise with the team and the obligatory shower afterwards, Harry dressed himself in a pair of trousers and a pale blue button down shirt, over which he pulled on a plain black robe. It was apparently a casual cut, though Harry could hardly tell the difference in cut between robe styles, so he didn't bother trying to. Instead, he combed through his hair and brushed his teeth before departing for the kitchens, wondering as he did so how the morning would go.

Once he'd collected the picnic basket from a very excitable Dobby, Harry returned to the entrance hall to wait. He'd made arrangements with Mandy to meet her at nine o'clock. It was only a quarter to the hour, but Harry had already begun to wonder if she'd actually show up. His hands trembled and it felt as if someone had let loose Snitches in his stomach, but still he waited by the grand staircase, picnic basket at his feet and bleary eyed students eyeing him as they passed. Student traffic was minimal because most had opted to spend the morning asleep, but Harry was sure that those students who had seen him would have the rest of their peers aware of Harry's actions by dinner. After all, word travelled fast in Hogwarts' hallowed halls.

Mandy appeared at the top of the grand staircase at five to nine. She wore a light blue robe that reached to mid-thigh over a white knee length sundress embroidered with blue detailing. Used to seeing his peers in their uniforms, Mandy among them, he was momentarily unable to form coherent thoughts - least of all manage the proper function of his mind-to-mouth filter. Therefore, he simply said nothing.

He was suddenly aware that Mandy was a girl: A very beautiful one at that. Mouth dry and hands trembling, he watched her descend the staircase, all the while praying to all the gods that would listen that he didn't screw up this breakfast.

"Hullo," Mandy greeted, once she was stood in front of him.

"Uhh…" Harry mentally face palmed. "I mean, hi. Morning. You look… very pretty…"

'Eloquent, Harry,' a voice in his head said mockingly.

Blimey, Sirius would be laughing his arse off right about now. Bloody hell.

Pink tinged Mandy's cheeks. He noticed she had freckles on the bridge of her nose. "Thank you," she said, almost too quietly to be heard over the din of the passing students.

Harry reached down and lifted the basket. Awkwardly, he offered the elbow of his free arm and Mandy, smiling slightly, curled her smaller hand around his arm. They walked out of the castle and around the lake. On its far bank, behind an age worn boulder, there was a small patch of sun warmed grass, isolated from the rest of the grounds by a broken circle of hedges. He brought out a blanket and tapped his wand to the material. They both watched it unfold itself and float to the ground.

"Magic never ceases to amaze me," Harry commented. He settled down Indian style on the blanket and Mandy followed suit, tucking her legs beneath her.

"It's very easy to forget you were raised by Muggles," Mandy commented. She withdrew her own wand and tapped it to the brim of the picnic basket. At once, a variety of continental breakfast dishes appeared: sliced fruits, yoghurt, bread and cheese, small pastries and what not. Another tap produced a pitcher of apple juice and two glasses.

"I hope you don't mind this," Harry said, waving to the spread Dobby had prepared, "I wasn't sure what you'd like, but you didn't seem the eggs and bacon type, so I thought I'd go with continental."

She smiled. "It's lovely." She tilted her head, a bemused little smile on her face. "Should we eat?"

He blinked, startled and smiled sheepishly. "Of course," Rummaging through the basket produced cutlery, but no plates to eat from. "I guess we just eat from the serving plates," he shrugged. "Is that alright with you?"

In response, she speared an apple slice on her fork and raised it to her mouth to eat. Rather than act like a creep and watch her eat, he instead reached for a croissant and fed himself.

"So Neville says you have two brothers," he began, after what felt like ten minutes of silence. "What's that like?"

She chewed a strawberry thoughtfully. "None of us are very close, simply due to a difference in personality and the age gap between us. Joseph is eighteen and graduated last year. Samuel is ten, due to start next year. It's very hard to find a common ground, so, as I said, we're not close."

"What do you like to do then?"

She hummed thoughtfully. "I like to read and spend time with my friends. Flying around is alright, though I'm abysmal at Quidditch. What else? I like to sing and dance, though I'm not very good at either. I also like to eat food and sleep and waste time doing nothing. I can't think of anything else right now, so your turn. What do you like doing when you're not fighting You Know Who?"

"Flying," Harry replied, "pick-up games of Quidditch. Spending time with my friends, putting off my Potions assignments to the last minute, coming up with prank ideas with the twins. I don't know what else, really." He shrugged. "I like learning new spells - nothing specific though. I have this random collection of spells in my head that are all kind of just useless."

"Oh? Like what?"

"I think my most useless would be this prank hex designed to cover someone in rainbow polka-dots. I don't go around pranking people - that's more Fred and George's forte - so hence the uselessness of it all. I think the only time I've used it was during the mock duels Ron, Hermione and I had last year."

They fell quiet again. To break the silence, Harry queried, "What are your hopes for the future? What do you want to do when you grow up, I mean?"

She smiled, averting her gaze while her cheeks tinged pink.

"What?"

"Nothing," Mandy replied, shrugging. "My dream career is becoming a curse breaker for Gringotts. I guess that won't happen now though."

"Why?" Harry queried. "Because of the betrothal?"

She nodded.

He scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Mandy. You can become whatever you want. I'm not going to stop you from fulfilling your dreams." He sighed, fire leaving him. "I'm not sure how it's done in the wizarding world, but I was raised Muggle and that's what I know. In the Muggle world, women can be whatever they want to be, regardless of their marital status."

"That explains so much," Mandy mused, "No wonder why Raggy is the way she is - all feminist rights and whatever else she goes on about."

Harry snorted. "Really? Here I was thinking it was just Hermione."

"I'd suggest we introduce them to each other, but that would result in an inevitable lack of peace for the foreseeable future. I get the impression Hermione is very passionate about what she believes in. Morag is the same - just with red hair."

"Are the two of you close?" Harry queried. "Aside from the Yule Ball fiasco, when all the girls seemed to travel in packs, I've only ever really seen you with Lisa."

"As close as dorm mates go," she responded nonchalantly, "Of course, we went through all the girl dramas together, so that created a sort of closeness between the five of us, but Lisa has been my best friend for as long as I can remember, so we're together more often than not. Padma and Su spend much of their time with their heads in their textbooks and Raggy spends most of her time with the boys, but all things considered, I'd call the girls in my dorm good friends at the very least. What about you?"

"We keep each other's secrets," Harry hedged. "Neville and I have a lot in common. Ron and I have been through a lot. Dean and Seamus have been witness to all of our combined nightmares, so there's a friendship there. Not sure how close it is though."

"And Hermione?" Mandy queried.

"She's my dearest friend," Harry said without hesitation, "I'd walk over hot coals for her. She'd do the same for me in a heartbeat."

Mandy tilted her head curiously. "You sound like you're in love."

Harry winced at the thought and shook his head. "No, no. We're best friends, but she nags and she blackmails and she's like the annoying older sister I never had. Just … snogging Hermione … urgh!" He shuddered. "Just … no."

"Why not?" Mandy queried.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. We've just been through too much, I guess."

"There are rumours," Mandy admitted, "Things you and your friends have done over the years."

"Of course there is," Harry muttered cynically. It wouldn't be Hogwarts if everyone didn't know everything about Harry and his pet bird. Christ, he hated gossip.

"I won't ask," Mandy assured quickly, probably noticing the frown on Harry's face. "I'm just saying that if half of those rumours are true, I'm not really surprised about how close you two are."

"One day I'll tell you the true story," Harry promised, "But I think I'd like you to get to know me first."

"Why's that?" Mandy queried.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Everyone sees what they want to see," he began, "I can't tell you how many people I've met who see only the scar. To them, I'm their hero - their saviour or what-the-bloody-fuck-ever - and so they never truly see Harry, the person. Now, I won't deny that I have a hero-complex a mile wide, but that's more because I don't like people suffering. I digress though. The point I'm trying to make is that the stories - the rumours about what we've done in the last four years - they'll probably have a modicum of truth. Lives were saved, house elves were liberated and the bad guys lost - certainly - but there's more to those stories, just like there is more to me. I just don't want those aspects to be unintentionally overlooked, you know?"

"I can't say I understand where you're coming from," Mandy admitted, "But that's probably because I've never been in your shoes. People look at me with a certain amount of expectation - that just comes with the territory of being a member of one of the ancient houses - but I assume it's different for you. Regardless, I'll be patient and wait for you to be ready. Then I'll listen and I'll try not to overlook the less heroic aspects of your story or you yourself."

Harry smiled. "Thank you." He sat back and stared up at the clear sky. "I suppose we should talk about the contract."

Mandy sighed. She waved her wand over the empty plates and he watched them stack themselves before floating into the picnic basket. With the extra room, she picked up a spoon, lay down on her stomach across the blanket and began to slowly make her way through the bowl of sweetened Greek yoghurt. "We should," she agreed. "Though, I'm not really sure what to cover first."

"I should probably ask," Harry began, "Does the wizarding world only practise monogamy? Because I don't feel at all comfortable with having two wives." He waved his hand, gesturing to the rings he wore. "You can become lady of both houses, can't you?"

"Yes, the wizarding world, as a whole, practices monogamy." She blushed at the topic, though continued in a mutter, "Though it doesn't mean everyone is faithful to their partners."

Harry chose to ignore the latter part of her comment and instead said, "Okay, so now that's out of the way, I have to ask: are you comfortable with marrying at fifteen because I won't lie, the thought scares the shite out of me and I have no idea what in Merlin's name your father is thinking by telling me - and possibly you - that it's probably for the best if we get married sooner rather than later." He took a breath, idly musing over how much of an influence Hermione had on his speech patterns and continued. "And also, what the buggering hell did he mean by ensuring the continuation of my line? I mean - sure - I need an heir, but not as soon as physically possible. Christ."

Mandy watched him with wide eyes, collected herself and attempted to respond to Harry's rant as best as possible. "Umm."

Yeah, Harry didn't blame her. He'd sort of laid it on thick like that. "Sorry."

She waved him off. "It's not a problem. We do have to address both issues. Concerning the marriage itself…" she trailed off, chewing her lip thoughtfully.

"I think that when You Know Who reveals himself to the public, the union between our houses will be something of a double edged sword. On one hand, the Brocklehursts will probably be made targets for associating with You Know Who's biggest enemy next to Professor Dumbledore. On the other, we'd be part of a very powerful alliance in the making: Black, Bones, Brocklehurst, Longbottom, Potter, Prewett and Turpin - probably others as well, if the rumours are to be believed. That would give us a fair amount of clout. That would help with the political side of what would eventually end up being a civil war. It's not the reason why my father wants us married so soon though."

"Oh?" Harry queried. "What is?"

"An heir," Mandy replied simply. "He wants an heir produced for the Potter and Black houses; just in case things go pear shaped with you."

"You mean, just in case I die," Harry said flatly.

Mandy winced, shrugging helplessly. "If you want to be so blunt. We can't deny it though: You Know Who has a vendetta against you. From what I've heard about the first war, being on his hit list isn't a very nice place to be."

"Yeah," Harry said bitterly, "It has a very low survival rate."

"If I could, I'd promise you everything will turn out okay. I can't do that though, so I'll instead promise to do everything in my power to help you see the end of the coming darkness. We've gotten off topic though."

"An heir to ensure the line continues. For him to have a legitimate claim to the Lordships, he'd have to be born in wedlock. I understand. It's just… something I'd never imagined happening to me. This whole situation is, really..." he trailed off.

"Tell me about it," Mandy agreed dryly. "But you actually asked me if I was comfortable with a wedding at fifteen. To be honest, there's not really any other alternative. It has to happen, so there's not really room to be uncomfortable."

"But aren't you - I don't know - angry? Resentful? Bitter? I don't know, but a part of me kind of just wants to wring my grandfather's neck for taking my choice away."

"I've always been raised with the knowledge that a betrothal contract was a possibility. My father might have come across a business deal which required me as a bargaining chip or something." She shrugged. Harry thought it was barbaric, the way that sounded, but he didn't say that. Maybe he would … one day. Just not now. "I was angry though - when my father visited me that night - after the Inheritance Test, you remember? - I ranted and I raged and then I cried. But as I said, it's always been a possibility so…" She shrugged again. "I guess I've just accepted that fact."

"Just like that?" Harry couldn't have hidden the incredulity if he tried.

She smiled dryly. "Just like that," she agreed.

"So," he began, "We're getting married." He sighed and again ran his hand through his hair. "Wow. This is actually happening. Merlin, I can't believe it."

"So should I owl my mother and ask her to start making wedding plans?"

Harry swallowed audibly. "Yes, it would probably be for the best.""

"

After talking for another half hour or so, the duo returned to the castle, chatting idly about unimportant things. Mandy followed Harry to the kitchens where Dobby accepted the returned picnic basket and Harry's thanks with teary eyes and smiles and proclamations of Harry's greatness. The wizard in question stammered his way through his thanks and farewells before leading a snickering Mandy back up towards the Entrance Hall and from there, Ravenclaw tower. It had been rather embarrassing to be praised like that in front of Mandy.

"I enjoyed today's breakfast, Harry," Mandy admitted as they approached the door to the Ravenclaw dorms. "Thank you for approaching me."

"It took up my entire courage quota for the year," Harry joked, "But I'm glad I did as well. I think I'd like to get to know you better before… everything."

"That sounds like a plan," Mandy beamed. She offered a hand, and Harry kissed her knuckles - a lesson Sirius had insisted on because, apparently, it really won the girls over. "Thanks again, Harry."

"No problem," he responded. "Have a good day, Mandy." He waved awkwardly, turned on his heel and returned the way he came.

-!- -#-

In Gryffindor tower, Harry threw his robes over the back of a couch and collapsed onto it, yawning, upsetting someone's slumbering cat. It was only midday, but he felt wiped. Before he could make the decision to doze off (a bad idea when you shared a common room with Fred and George Weasley - a lesson he'd unfortunately learned through experience in his first year), Neville dropped noisily into the armchair adjacent from Harry's couch and looked expectantly at his roommate-turned-friend-turned-pseudo-god brother.

"How'd it go?"

"Not bad," Harry shrugged, "She's pretty wicked."

"And you two talked about the contract?"

"Yes, dad." Harry rolled his eyes. "How'd your brunch thing go with Lisa?"

"The same," Neville hedged. "She's nice when she relaxes."

They fell silent, comfortable with the unspoken understanding between them. Unfortunately, their peace was broken by Ron and Hermione. The two were arguing and by the looks of it, they'd been at it for quite a while.

"Harry! Neville! Just the two I had hoped to see," Hermione declared. She lifted Harry's feet and dropped into the space they vacated, before she dropped his feet into her lap and left them there. "You need to tell Ron to contact Susan. Quite frankly, he's being rather rude about the entire situation. You know he spent Friday's entire Herbology lesson glaring at her?"

Harry actually hadn't known that. At the time, he'd been too busy stressing about what Mandy's response would be to his breakfast invite to pay much attention to anything else, least of all Ron's actions in class.

"Excuse me for not wanting to marry a girl I don't even know," Ron retorted. He dropped ungracefully into the armchair across from Neville's and glared petulantly at the crimson rug beneath his feet.

"Well that's exactly what's going to happen if you don't start talking to her!" Hermione snapped, "For goodness' sake, Ron, it's not all about you. She's stuck marrying you just as much as you are stuck with her. Quite frankly, I think you've got the better end of the deal - at least Susan is pretty." Hermione got to her feet and stalked up the girls' staircase. In her wake, the trio of fifth year boys sat in silence.

"Wow, if I liked girls, I'd totally marry her," Katie declared, dropping onto the arm of Neville's chair. For a moment, her eyes stayed on the door to the girls' staircase.

"You're crazy," Ron declared, "She's mental."

"_Au contraire_, Ronald," Fred disagreed, appearing from nowhere with his twin in tow.

"She is really rather brilliant," George agreed.

"Scary," Fred conceded.

"But brilliant," George repeated.

Ron shook his head sadly. "Mental - the lot of you." He stood up and made to leave. The twins stopped him before he could and shoved him back into the armchair he'd just vacated.

"Harrykins, Gred and I Believe that an intervention Is in order."

"Would youDo the honours?"

"I'd rather just watch," Harry admitted, but nonetheless sat up on the couch he'd been spread across. He watched as Katie stuck Ron to the couch and summoned his wand, chuckling at the affronted expression on Ron's face when he realised. Ron sent Harry a betrayed glance, but Harry ignored it. This was Ron's mess and Harry wouldn't be helping in the clean-up.

"As you wish." Katie got up from Neville's armchair and settled down on the arm beside Ron. There, she lifted her hand and flicked Ron on the forehead. "That's for being a belligerent brat. Now you'll listen to us, and you'll listen good, because I'm only saying this once and believe me, this isn't for your sake."

Ron swallowed hard and nodded. Harry didn't blame him - Katie was terrifying when she wanted to be. She had a fierceness about her that was inspiring on the quidditch pitch, but fear-inducing anywhere else. It was a wonder she managed to come across as a big sweetheart whenever she wasn't in a funk.

Neville sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, kicked his feet up onto the coffee table in the middle of the three chairs and watched, stoic and silent. It seemed he'd been waiting for this intervention. If Harry was being honest, he had been waiting for it, too. There were only so many rants and arguments before it just got ridiculous. Ron needed a reality check and he needed one now.

-!- -#-

**Author's Note:** As usual, thanks must go to my beta who's username, as usual, I can't spell for shit. I hope you've enjoyed - leave a review.

-t


	10. CHapter Nine: THe UNlikely Alliance

**The Lord and his Lady:**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter universe. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Nine: The UNlikely Alliance **

Harry groaned as he buried his head under his pillow. It was far too early to start the day, but unfortunately for him, he wasn't the one who'd written up the Hogwarts class schedules. His exhaustion was his own fault, really. With Umbridge a deplorable menace who had a tendency to not-so-subtly badmouth himself and Dumbledore, it was no surprise that he would lash out at her during classes. Usually, he'd restrain himself (four years of Snape's Potions classes ensured he was an expert at it), but the fact of the matter was, he just didn't want to. He didn't like Umbridge and he wanted her to know it.

Unfortunately, as a Hogwarts student and she as a professor, it was part of her right as a teacher to discipline students whenever she saw fit. As such, for the last two weeks, he'd spent the hour between class and dinner writing out 'I must respect my professors' until his hand cramped and then stayed up until midnight doing the homework he was determined not to fall behind on. He'd promised Sirius and Remus he'd give his education his all and he'd be damned if he let them down because he was too stubborn to keep his mouth shut.

On top of his ridiculous amount of detentions, O.W.L year had struck the fifth years with a vengeance. The professors (at least the qualified ones) had burdened the students with a seemingly endless supply of essays, readings, assignments and practical projects to do, ensuring very little time to spare for Harry between his extra classes (Economics, Estate and Business Management so forth and so forth), homework, quidditch practise and detentions. Therefore, he'd been considerably slack in his self-appointed task of getting to know Mandy, but given the girl was just as bogged down by school work as he himself was, he hoped that she understood. He at least made an effort to owl her a list of get-to-know-you questions once a week and answered her responding queries in kind, hopefully managing to assure her he was making an effort with their not-really relationship.

Harry deactivated his vibrating wand, climbed out of bed and quickly dressed in his training gear. Angelina's new morning exercise regime with the team was going fairly well, all things considered. Harry appreciated it for the stress relief running the perimeter of the pitch provided, but he found that the mindless routine of push ups, sit ups, stretches and suicides also gave him time to think about - and plan out - his days. Pushing his body to it's limits and slightly beyond every day was exhausting, but it was the exhaustion that came with completing something productive and for that, he couldn't begrudge Angelina and her crazy captain plans in the slightest.

Natalie had also blended seamlessly into the fold, cracking jokes with the girls, holding her own against the twins, commiserating with Harry about their terrible teachers, homework and the very regular pranks they were victim to as the team's two youngest members. They formed a bond over retaliatory pranks on the twins and chasers, being the only individuals amidst the beater duo and chaser trio and the unintended exclusions caused when the five others would bemoan their N.E.W.T level classes and talk about their future plans for when they left Hogwarts, Gryffindor Tower and it's beloved quidditch team for bigger, brighter and better things.

He tried not to think about his own future, because whenever he did, it would always come back to one thing: Voldemort and Harry's inevitable death at the psychopath's skeletal hands. It was a depressing thought, though a realistic one. Voldemort, for all his psychopathic tendencies and evil ways, had forty years of accumulated magical knowledge over Harry's measly four and a bit. It was therefore apparent that despite Harry's rather uncanny luck when it came to escaping Voldemort's clutches in the last four years, he truly didn't stand a chance against the Dark Lord at full strength, thus resulting in Harry's eventual demise.

With that cheerful thought, Harry made his way down the tower stairs and into the common room, finding a bleary eyed Natalie watching Fred and George talk in that weird way of their's about one of their newest inventions Harry didn't remember. The two, it seemed, had put their thousand galleons to good use in creating and developing their products but Harry had no particular interest in the making of them. He admired the twins' creative genius, but his ability to attract trouble without even trying to kept much of his attention away from pranks and such.

Angelina was there as well, though it seemed Katie and Alicia had struggled to break away from the cocoon of warmth that was their own four posters again. They were the two who most struggled with the early sessions, though he supposed that without Oliver to go completely manic over the quidditch cup, they had far less incentive to be up at the arse crack of dawn for Angelina's fitness regime.

Harry didn't blame them. If he wouldn't have been tempting the menace that was the twins product experimentations, he would have still been in bed, too.

Minutes later, Angelina had successfully managed to drag Alicia and Katie down in their sportswear. As such, the seven headed out to the quiddittch pitch to start their day.

Harry was sweating by the time eight o'clock rolled around. He returned up to his dormitory, showered and dressed in his uniform, refreshed despite the two hour exercise session he'd just put himself through. Exercise was something he'd been accustomed to before Hogwarts, so it had been easy to fall into the old routine - more advanced to accommodate for his increased height and weight. For a brief moment, he wondered what his relatives would think about his new appearance, though the thought was fleeting and left his mind as soon as he had something else to focus on - namely - packing his bag.

When he was ready for his day and he was sure Ron and Seamus were awake, Harry slung his book bag over his shoulder, donned his shoes and made his way into the common room. Hermione was there, laying into Fred and George for testing their prank products on the lower years despite the fact that neither of them looked conscious enough to pay her any attention - it seemed training that morning had wiped them out more so than usual. Neville was also there, doting on Crookshanks while the half neazle's owner made everyone in hearing distance aware of just how many rules the twins were breaking with their entrepreneurial exploits and experiments.

Ginny caught his eye from the girl's staircase, they shared a rueful grin and the younger girl rolled her eyes as a gesture of long suffering. Harry chuckled to himself, approached the angry prefect, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began to lead her towards the portrait hole, all the while ignoring her indignant protests. Neville and Ginny followed them with bemused expressions on their faces, but Harry was too busy trying to placate his frizzy haired friend to really make conversation with either of them.

Over breakfast, the four made idle conversation while they awaited the post delivery and for classes to begin. Harry didn't really know Ginny very well, though that was more a result of her past inability to complete more than four syllable sentences around him. She'd seemed to have gotten over that rather embarrassing crush though - for which Harry was unendingly glad - and in doing so, she was providing Harry with the opportunity to get to know her beyond the awkward conversations and cherry red blush. To say the least, Ginny was a firecracker with a hair trigger temper, a loud mouth and wicked sense of humour, but a part of Harry wondered if she'd have ended up differently had her first year not gone so terribly.

Harry's musings were halted with the flurry that came with morning post. Owls deposited newspapers and letters and packages, stopped for some attention and treats before disappearing once more in a whirl of wings and feathers and noise. In front of Harry, there was a letter sealed with the Gringott's crest,, a parchment envelope adorned with his godfather's familiar penmanship and the Daily Prophet bound together with twine.

Gringott's was requesting an audience with Harry to go over Harry's numerous accounts. It seemed the family vaults had a number of sub-vaults, devoted to the profits and interest accumulated by the investments he'd inherited through the Black and Potter estates. Harry slipped the letter into his bag and made a mental note to request Neville's aid in penning a response post haste - probably during their History of Magic lesson that morning.

Sirius was updating Harry on the day-to-day goings on at headquarters. He went on to give Harry book recommendations to go with the two he'd snagged from the Grimmauld Place library and those texts that had been suggested by his new teachers (Bill for Economics, Elphias for Government and Politics, Lady Longbottom (and hadn't that been a surprise?) for Rhetoric and Etiquette, Ragnok the goblin (and what another shock that had been) for Business and Estate Management and old Ignatius Prewett for Legal Studies. He slid that letter in with the first and picked up the paper to read with his breakfast and almost spat out his juice when he saw the front page headline.

In bold black lettering for all to see, was the caption, 'Murder in Malfoy Manor' while below it, there showed a black and white image of a stately mansion with the dark mark hanging over head. The following article went on to say how yesterday morning, Lady Malfoy found her husband dead in his study, his throat slit and with no sign of a struggle. The author then goes onto state that with the dark mark over the mansion, it was not difficult to piece together the assassination and the warning that Voldemort was back and determine that the murder was the cause of death eater activity - or perhaps even Lord Voldemort himself.

"Good God," hermione breathed, reading her own copy of the paper. Neville looked up from his breakfast, having not had yet opened his Prophet, caught sight of Harry and Hermione's expressions, and then raced with Ginny to grab his own. He won, all but wrenched it open and began to read the article with an expressionless mask across his face.

Harry handed his copy over to Ginny and once she read it, she asked, "Is it terrible that I don't feel bad?"

Harry shook his head. "No - not after what he put you through. I guess I don't really feel bad -I'm just really, really shocked."

"You and me both," Neville agreed grimly. He set down his paper, pushed away his plate and got to his feet. "I'm going to go talk to my Gran - I'll see you in History. Later, Ginny."

When he was gone, Hermione turned to Harry. "So what do you think?"

Harry shrugged and returned to his breakfast. "Maybe he just pissed off the big guy - who can say?" He cast a glance over at the Slytherin table and was admittedly surprised to see Malfoy seated at his house table, stoic and silent beside Parkinson. He looked unfazed by the regular glances in his direction, as well as the death of his father, though Harry supposed glamours were a wonder to hide what you didn't want people to see. Harry had long since learned that showing weakness in front of your enemies would only get you hurt faster. Harry was almost certain Malfoy had been taught a similar lesson as a child, but rather than think more on the matter, he returned to his breakfast and tried to push the worry out of his mind.

Ron appeared then, settled down in Neville's vacated seat and began to make himself a plate of food. Oblivious to the goings on around him, Ginny waited until her brother's mouth was full before she enlightened him. In turn, Ron choked on his food, spent a good while trying to clear his abused trachea and then quietly declared, "It's one less death eater that we don't have to deal with. For that I say good riddance to bad rubbish."

"He was someone's father, Ron - someone's wife - have a little respect," Hermione chastised.

"That bastard nearly killed my sister," Ron rebutted, "For all I give a damn, he can burn in hell."

And what could they say to that? Nothing. So they said nothing at all, finished their meals in silence and made their way to their History of Magic classroom, leaving Ginny behind. Neville was already there, silently staring at their Professor, but when Harry asked, the tawny haired Gryffindor willingly helped Harry with his reply to Gringott's before they began to quietly discuss the matter of Lucius Malfoy.

"My grandmother confirmed that Draco Malfoy claimed his Lordship last night - it showed up in the Wizengamot record. She and Dumbledore checked this morning."

"What about his seat on the Hogwarts board of governors?" Harry queried. He only knew of it because Malfoy had bragged - ceaselessly - about it their first three years at Hogwarts and after so many times of hearing it, the knowledge had somewhat stuck.

"All of the current members will each nominate someone within the wizarding society, they'll all be interviewed and the board will then vote for their favourite. The one with the most votes will take Malfoy's place."

"Sounds boring," Harry deadpanned.

Neville chuckled, but nodded his agreement. Soon enough though, most of his friends had fallen asleep by Binns' droning. Hermione was the only Gryffindor paying attention, so the boy who lived didn't hesitate in conjuring a straw to send spitballs through their professor. When she noticed them appearing on the chalkboard behind the ghost, she whirled - scandalised - to be faced with a cheekily grinning Harry. Then she rolled her eyes, turned around and continued with her note taking.

Harry was about to send another spitball through his professor, but was stopped when a folded piece of parchment appeared on his desk. Wondering how it had done that, he warily poked it with his wand, muttered all the detection spells he knew (one didn't survive in Gryffindor tower and living with Fred and George Weasley without learning a fair few) and pleased with his results, opened it up to read the following note:

_We wish to discuss with you our place in the coming war. Meet us in 'The Roost' at midnight tonight and bring Longbottom._

_Signed -_

_DM and PP _

Harry arched an eyebrow, admittedly surprised and assumed rightly that it had something to do with the new byplay within the fifth year Slytherins. Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle still continued to follow Theodore Nott around, Zabini, Moon, Davis and Greengrass generally stuck close together, leaving Parkinson and Malfoy apart from the rest of them. Harry wasn't sure what it all meant, but he was under the impression that Nott, Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode had each sided with Voldemort, Zabini and company had probably declared neutrality, with Malfoy and Parkinson either undecided or undeclared.

Harry shrugged to himself, pushed the thought out of his mind, burned the note with a muttered incendio and returned to sending spitballs through Professor Binns' incorporeal form.

-!- -#-

Hermione Granger was a pragmatic girl. She knew - just as well as she knew the sky was blue - that war was coming. The death of Lucius Malfoy was the prelude of the horrors to come and denying it as the Ministry was so staunchly trying, would only get herself killed. Therefore, she was determined to learn all the helpful spells she could: healing, offensive, defensive and protective. She didn't have the ingrained ability to sense trouble like Harry, nor did she have his ridiculously quick reflexes. She had a quick mind though and the determination to learn, help and win, so until she couldn't any longer, she'd learn everything she could.

On this particular day, it was what had brought her to the library. The room greeted Hermione with the familiar smell of old leather, polished wood and dried ink. She welcomed it's familiarity with a content smile and stepped inside, glad to know that _one_ thing in her suddenly tumultuous life had not changed. The books on their shelves still towered high above her head, Madam Pince continued to prowl about her domain like a slightly less creepy, human version of Mrs Norris. Students worked silently at the tables scattered around the room and some others lounged on the available couches, the quiet such a juxtaposition to the hustle and bustle of the great Hall that it left her momentarily reeling. Then she righted herself, pulled the strap of her messenger bag further up her shoulder and headed towards her favourite spot in her most beloved sanctuary.

Near the back wall of the library and surrounded by bookshelves, a single desk was situated out of the way of the rest of Madame Pince's domain. The solitary desk was illuminated by the light from a solitary window. She could see the dust motes dancing in the waning, golden sunlight, but before she could get entranced by their endless dance, she instead settled down at the table and withdrew four books from her bag - all of which had been borrowed from Harry in the name of learning spells for the upcoming war. SHe withdrew her own leather-bound journal and a fountain pen before she began to idly flick through the parchment pages in search of where she'd left off in her growing list of spells.

Hermione immersed herself into her work and thereby lost track of time in the process. For the moment, she had nothing to worry about but for the darkness looming over the horizon, for which she was currently preparing for the best she knew how. Her homework had been completed in the free period left when their Legal Studies teacher - Ron's great-grandfather - had cancelled the lesson due to health issues, she wasn't on prefect patrols and no one had yet asked for any tutoring aid yet this term.

So when her peace was broken by the husky, accented drawl of the boy who simultaneously aggravated and amused her to no end, she was admittedly startled. He hadn't acknowledged her all term, so Hermione had thus presumed that Blaise Zabini had chosen his side of the war and it wasn't the same as hers. She was of course of no allusions that this war had only two factions, but those who'd already drawn their lines avoided interactions with the opposing factions - or so she'd presumed with her observations in the last weeks.

It was really only amongst the upper years that the divide was noticeable - those old enough to read between the lines and see the truth for what it was, but even then, it was only noticeable if one was looking for it. And Hermione? Yeah - she'd been looking.

"Why, are my eyes deceiving me? Granger has finally made her appearance in the hallowed aisles of the Hogwarts library? My, but I think she broke a record - she hasn't stepped in this place for two weeks."

Hermione lifted her head and pierced the Slytherin with a gaze sparking with simultaneous amusement and irritation. The Italian boy was leant against a shelf, his shoulder no doubt aching with the pressure put on it by his weight and the shelf's unresisting force. Regardless, his expression was graced with a confident smirk and laughing eyes, no sign of his discomfort evident. After all, he was a Slytherin and Slytherins _never_ showed weakness. "I'm unsure of whether I should be flattered or perturbed by the fact that you know that, Zabini. You also need to work on your verbal entries - that was appalling."

"I'm sure," he acknowledged. Graceful steps brought him over to the table where -without asking the busy haired brunette - he settled in the seat across from her, brought out his Transfiguration homework and began to study.

She sighed to herself, mentally shrugged off his presence and returned to her list of spells. Flicking through Harry's books, she mentally noted all of the comments her friend had left in the margins, though a part of her despaired over the damage to the pages. It was nice to know he read his books though and his comments really were useful. It interested Hermione to see how many of the marked spells Harry knew - all of them, no doubt - and she noted them all, accepting the fact that if Harry had learned them, they were useful, for though Harry had a tendency to learn charms and transfigurations of no consequence, she knew with absolute certainty that he would never take his defensive and offensive magics so casually.

"Are you alright, Hermione?"

Hermione started at the sound of Blaise's voice, shook herself and then shrugged. "Of course I am," she responded flippantly, "Why on earth wouldn't I be?"

He arched a thin eyebrow, dark eyes shrewd as he seemed to look right through her. THe girl didn't know how he'd managed it, but he'd always - always - managed to see right through her masks. So when he didn't comment and instead simply waited, Hermione knew that this time would be exactly like all the others, in which his observational skills trounced her acting ones without a doubt.

She slumped with a muffled groan, reached a hand up to rub at weary cinnamon eyes and then blinked up at the Slytherin, silently pleading for probably more than even Hermione could know. "No," she admitted, "No I'm not alright, Blaise."

He set down his quill and reached his hands across the table and the spread of opened books, to wrap her smaller hands up in his own. Her skin - lightly tanned - stood out against his own olive complexion, his skin comfortingly warm against her own. He'd always been able to relax her, even as two thirteen year old strangers about to begin an entirely new subject. Two years later and he still had that same calming effect on her, even as the future turned dire and her place in it's society unknown.

"Talk to me, Hermione," he urged, accompanied by a gentle squeeze of his hands around her own.

She shook her head and tears welled in her eyes. "I can't, Blaise." She pulled her hands from his grasp and dropped them into her lap. Unwilling to look at him, she instead turned her gaze to the window, where the sky had turned black and starless, hidden behind thick, heavy storm clouds. "I won't."

"Why not?" He queried, but she was entirely too aware of the hurt which lingered behind his well cultivated mask. "Nothing's changed."

She shook her head, already denying his words. "Don't say that, Blaise - don't say that when you know it's not at all true. _Everything_ has changed."

"Not between us," he argued, "We're still the same."

"Are we?" SHe queried, though the question was rhetorical and they both knew it. "Because after June, I don't think I could ever be the same again." SHe'd spent sleepless nights squeezed into Harry's bed, cradling his trembling body to her chest while she sang him back to slumber and while Ron watched them, helpless but unwilling to let them - let Harry - suffer alone. "I've chosen my side Blaise and you've chosen yours. I can't - I won't - give away my weaknesses."

"I would never betray you," he insisted.

"Not willingly," she agreed, "But you and I both know what the death eaters - what Lord Voldemort - is capable of. Could you withstand torture? I'm on the side that will fight against him. You might be safe on the sidelines, but if any of them catch wind that you have information on one of Harry Potter's best friends, what will they do?" Blaise was silent and tears ran freely down Hermione's cheeks. She roughly brushed them away, cleared her throat and quietly said, "You should go."

Without a word, he packed away his books, slid them into his satchel and silently departed. In his wake, Hermione let her tears go.

-!- -#-

"Disillusionment charms, then?" Neville proposed, once they were both safely out of the confines of the Gryffindor common room. It was twenty minutes to midnight, curfew had fallen two hours earlier and both orphans had a clandestine meeting with a couple of Slytherins to be at. Harry agreed with a nod and simultaneously, the two of them disillusioned themselves and made their way towards the owlery.

On their way, they passed Mrs Norris and Peeves and Professors Flitwick and Sinestra. Harry pondered on the fact that the castle seemed so much more eerie at night than it had in previous years and Harry wondered if he was simply only noticing it now, or if it was due to the fact anyone could now be an enemy. Anxiously, he tightened his grip on his wand and continued, Neville's shallow breathing the only indication that his friend was still behind him.

At the base of the staircase to the Roost, Harry took stock of the fact that only Malfoy and Parkinson were present in the tower before he sealed the map, pocketed it and dropped his charm. Neville followed suit and after a shared glance between the two, they steadily made their way up the spiralling staircase, wands lit to light their way and guard up for any attack.

None came.

Instead, Malfoy and Parkinson were seated at the solitary table in the room, silently watching the two Gryffindors as they took stock of the room. Neville shut the door behind them and without needing instruction, he locked and silenced the door so their meeting wouldn't catch attention.

"Malfoy," Harry greeted, "And Parkinson. You both asked us here - so what would you like?" Harry noted just how tired the newest Lord Malfoy looked, but didn't bother trying to give condolences he didn't mean. Everyone and their pet cat knew that Harry didn't like Lucius Malfoy and Harry wasn't about to start pretending he did after the man had just died. Neville had taken the same stance on the matter, instead simply acknowledging Malfoy's new status with a courteous head nod while Harry took the lead.

"As you are no doubt aware by now, my father was killed recently."

Neville arched an eyebrow from his place beside and slightly behind Harry. "I hope you don't expect pity from us, Malfoy."

"I don't expect anything from you," Malfoy acknowledged, "What I was going to say was that what wasn't written in the Daily Prophet was the fact that my father was killed by Fenrir Greyback, under orders from the Dark Lord."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and frowned thoughtfully. He could remember with crystal clarity the night in June when Voldemort summoned his loyal and free death eaters. Among them had been Lucius Malfoy and despite the fact that Voldemort hadn't been pleased with any of them, he hadn't been particularly angry with Malfoy either. "Why?"

"Because the diary given to Weasley was apparently important to him. Damned if I know why, but when the Dark Lord learned of what my father had done with it, he was apoplectic."

"You wanted to talk to us about your alliances," Harry probed. Though it was nice to have his curiosity about the Malfoy murder abated, it was late and he was tired. Neither did he want to spend more time with the two Slytherins who'd been thorns in his side since day one of his Hogwarts years. By no means were they responsible for the difficulties he'd faced (that honour went solely to Voldemort) but they were certainly annoyances he could have done without.

"I want them to pay," the blonde said viciously, as his lips curled in a feral snarl, "I want each and every one of them to be sorry for ever joining that bastard."

It was truly amazing how one summer could change a person's opinions. Harry could remember quite clearly that during the week following the Triwizard Tournament's final task, Malfoy had been smugly gloating about Voldemort's resurrection and his inevitable place as the Dark Lord's right hand. Between then and now, the blonde's view of Tom had done a complete 180 and honestly, it looked like Malfoy loathed Voldemort as much as Harry himself did.

"And why would you approach us about it?" Neville asked, though he'd successfully managed to pull an expressionless mask across his features. No doubt, the Lord of the ANcient and Noble House of Longbottom was internally raging at the fact that the nephew of the woman he hated above all else was actually seeking an alliance with him. "Why not Dumbledore?"

"I don't want this to be simply an alliance to see the war's end," Malfoy replied, anger abating slightly, "I want an alliance with your houses - in the Wizengamot chambers, on the battlefield and beyond."

Harry stepped back and let Neville take the lead. Neville, after all, had been the one trained since the age of five for such meetings and whatnot. Though the situation wasn't at all a formal meeting to propose an alliance between houses, Harry was pretty sure there were some customs that had to be followed, regardless of the setting. He didn't know for certain though - the topic hadn't been covered in any of his new classes and he hadn't been told because he'd never asked, but now he wished he had - or at the very least, read up on the subject. That was of course assuming books on the matter existed. Harry wouldn't put it past the wizarding aristocracy to teach everything by word of mouth alone so the muggle raised never learned, but what did he know?

"Name your terms." Neville's voice brought Harry out of his musings and despite his fatigue, he listened attentively, determined to learn from this meeting. Malfoy only had two terms: the first being to see the end of Voldemort and the second to see his immediate family survive the upcoming war. Neville however added a third, which ensured that neither parties would intentionally betray the other two involved,and Harry agreed to it, witnessed by Parkinson and recognised by the wizard's oath the three of them had sworn.

When the two Slytherins had departed, Harry turned to his friend and admitted, "I hope it's the right thing we just did."

Neville nodded his agreement. "Same here." With a shrug and a stretch though, the subject was quickly changed. "Let's go - I'm beat."

They returned to Gryffindor tower without getting caught and stumbled up to their dormitory. The other three were already asleep, so Neville and Harry silently changed into their nightwear, climbed into bed and fell asleep.

-!- -#-

**Author's Note:** Hey readers, so my beta is kind of awol, so this chapter is only edited by me. It's also ultra short because I'm too lazy to write the last scene I'd planned for this chapter. I hope you enjoyed and please leave a review

Until next time -t


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